The Dark Wars: Empire's End
by Marquis Black
Summary: Sequel to DW:EP. Fort Valour has fallen amidst screams and blood. Is this a fluke, or a herald of things to come? Will the Potters hold fast to the Imperial Colours, or will everything fall? And just what is Project Archangel? AU. COMPLETE
1. Chapter I: Aftermath

_ AN: Well, here it is. Chapter I of Empire's End. Now, before the flames come, and I'm sure they will, let me remind you that I only accept those devised as constructive criticism, not childish taunts and/or insults. That being said, enjoy!_

_PS: I forgot to make this clear. Voldemort **isn't** alive in either DW:EP or DW:EE  
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From: "The Empire's Darkest Hour," by John Clark_

_Excerpt from Chapter 3, "Precedents" _

"…_Among the precedents to the Dark Times is the Fall of Fort Valour, which heralded the times to come, even if contemporaries had no idea of the specifics…_

_...littered with bodies..._

_...mutilated...beyond all recognition...  
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_...not ten miles out of London...  
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…_declared as the biggest catastrophe in Imperial military history, it would nonetheless be overshadowed by events to come…"_

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_Imperial War Ministry—A week later... _

Harry was in a gloomy mood. It had been a week since the Fort Valour Massacre, and still the gloom that had hit him since he found out about it had not left him.

But then, it had shocked the rest of his contemporaries as well. No one had expected the sudden strike; not on an Imperial garrison. Not on Fort Valour.

But it had happened nonetheless, and now Harry sat at the inevitable meeting that tried to deal with the backlash from the catastrophic event.

"—this clearly shows that we _must_ increase garrison sizes!" came one loud opinion.

"Bollocks! A large garrison can be killed off just as easily as a small one can!" came the quick, condescending reply.

"—must enact harsher patrols in known Dark sectors!"

"—seek out the remaining bases and—"

"—execute the whole bloody lot!"

"Enough"

The single word quieted the officers at the table, making Harry smirk internally as he watched Field Marshall Lord Victor Irons single-handedly silence over twenty babbling officers, most of which outranked Harry. In fact, it miffed many of them that a Lieutenant-Colonel would be present at a meeting where only Generals were permitted.

Lord Irons cast a glare at the every officer on the table save Harry, who he knew had stayed quiet throughout the shouting match.

"Gentlemen," he intoned in his deep baritone voice, "this is getting us nowhere. The enemy has decided to show us his capabilities and now we must strike back lest we appear weak. Any suggestions?"

One of the generals leaned forward, and Irons nodded at him.

"Lord Irons, I, and several of my colleagues agree, that perhaps exacting more stringent laws on Dark Wizards would allow our forces to carry out their duties more effectively, without having to worry about the bureaucratic red tape," suggested the man. "In addition, we would like to suggest that an agreement be made with the Ministry to have _them_ execute their laws more efficiently." Many heads along the table nodded at this. Irons said nothing.

Irons looked around the table. "Any objections to this proposal?" he asked. When no one spoke, he drifted his eyes towards Harry. He trusted and respected the boy. Not just anyone could rise to Lieutenant-Colonel by the age of 16. "Potter? Any comments?"

Harry gave Irons a calculating look before sighing softly. "Sir, with all due respect to the generals, I have to disagree with the plan on the basis of several reasons," he stated. Irons gave him a nod, which Harry took as a 'go on' sign.

"Sir, our laws, as they are, are already very exacting against Dark Wizards. Indeed, despite the bureaucratic red tape, it has given our forces powers that are, in general, not accorded to any army unless in a time of martial law. To make our laws even _more_ stringent would alienate our supporters and potential even invite rebellion and sedition from passive detractors," he elaborated. "As it is, my lord, we cannot fight yet another front, and especially not one which would take away any righteousness in our cause. If we proceed with the current plan and decide to confront the populace, I fear we will be inviting open rebellion."

"Are you suggesting we are _not_ going through rebellion right now, Colonel?" asked one of the more level-headed generals.

Harry shook his head. "I realize the present situation may _seem_ like a rebellion, general, but if we are honest with ourselves, this is more of a minor insurgency, as compared to other rebellions the Empire has gone through," reasoned Harry, "However, _because_ it is not a rebellion is no reason to _make _it one."

Irons nodded. That was a good point. "You said you had other points, Potter?"

Harry nodded. He started tapping the pen in his hand against the table; a sign that he was thinking as he was talking. "The plan proposed by the general would also fail, in my honest opinion, because it puts faith, too much faith, in the Ministry of Magic. My lord, we have proven once and again how incompetent and corrupt the Ministry is. At very best, the Ministry would agree at face-value, make a few minor arrests, then publicly announce the threat contained, until the next massive Death Eater attack proves them wrong. And by then, we've lost yet another fort and need a garrison's worth of body-bags."

Irons nodded again, while many of the generals started whispering amongst themselves. Most seemed impressed, some seemed reluctant in admitting the reasoning sound. The general that had proposed the measures, however, refused to back down.

"I expect this means _you_ have a better idea, then, Colonel?" asked the man, his pride wounded as the junior officer ripped apart the arguments holding his suggestion together.

Harry, to the man's dismay, nodded. "I do indeed, general," he stated, gaining Irons' attention again. "My suggestion is to increase our intelligence capacities. Recruit spies from wherever we can in known Dark sectors. Possibly even infiltrate the Death Eaters themselves. The problem with Fort Valour," and here _everyone_ flinched, "was that we didn't _know_ they where coming. If we wish to avoid another bloody massacre, or acting like paranoid maniacs, we must start _knowing_ more," Here, Harry paused. He didn't know how the room would react to his next suggestion, and he'd already heard the plan he had in mind wasn't generally well received in the upper branches.

Irons seemed to catch onto the younger man's reluctance. "Is there something else, Potter?" he asked. He was genuinely curious, too. The boy seemed to have a good military mind, and not just everyone rose to the rank of Lt. Colonel based on merit alone by the age of 17.

Harry sighed. "Sir, it is of my opinion that we should increase the funding to Project Archangel," he announced. The room immediately stilled before exploding into shouts of protests and scoffs.

Project Archangel was a highly debated topic within the Imperial forces. Its founding scientists had put forth the idea of combining magic and modern aviation technology to produce what would essentially be "airships"—massive, magic-propelled that, though water-based, they had short-term flight capabilities, thus making them ships that would essentially be able to get anywhere anytime..

Of course, the Imperial Navy spurned the project, seeing it as an Army encroachment attempt into their territory. The Imperial Air Service, however, loved the idea, although were a bit cautious on the fighter launching proposals, since it would be tricky for even the most veteran pilots to land a fighter in a moving hangar. The Imperial Army, on the other hand, was split. Some liked it, others didn't.

Irons was the first to regain his voice after the announcement. "Project Archangel is not an Imperial-wide favoured project, Potter. Some _very_ influential people in the Navy will never allow it to go through. Why do you think we should fund it?"

Harry sighed. He stopped tapping the table with his pen and instead began twirling it in his fingers. "My lord, the airships the project promises to create would allow us to deploy our army forces practically anywhere on short intervals," he began, "In addition, as everyone here knows, mass portkey travel makes for a very chaotic army, which would take away our disciplinary advantage over the enemy. Furthermore, the airships would allow for a new form of tactics: an air-ambush, if you will."

"That doesn't take away the Navy's disdain for it, however," pointed our Irons. Harry nodded.

"I'm aware of that, my lord. In that respect, let the Navy pilot the ships and have overall command of them, while the Air Service takes up pilot staffing."

"And ourselves?"

"I'm not sure, Lord Irons. I am, of course, open to suggestions."

Irons frowned slightly at that. "I cannot approve of a project unless there is a solid basis for it, Colonel," he reminded the youth. "Do you even have comprehensive schematics drawn up for the prototype?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my lord," he admitted somewhat regretfully. Despite this, however, he pressed on. "However, if you can give me this assignment on a full-time basis, I'm sure we could get something solid going in no time."

One of the generals scoffed openly. "Preposterous!" sneered the general. "Project Archangel was shelved for a damn good reason! We should leave it there!" he continued. "Or, better yet, just scrape it altogether!"

Several generals gave murmurs of agreement at that, but Irons remained silent.

"Gentlemen, please!" protested Harry. "The reason Archangel was shelved was its comparatively high production and research cost!"

"Exactly! Why should we spend money on something as far-fetched as an _airship_?"

"Innovation is the key!" argued Harry. "Our enemy is learning to counter our weapons, so we must stay one step ahead!"

"Why not invest in weapons production, then?" ventured another general. Several murmurs of assent went around the table.

"Weapons production is a good idea, I agree," said Harry. "However, researching upgrades for our field arms will only ever result in single advances! The research invested in Archangel could potentially be applied in every field known to the military _and_ to civilian technology!"

This time, several of the general shifted—a sign that they were being convinced. He just needed to push just a bit more.

"Archangel was costly in its time, I will freely admit that," pressed on Harry. "However, that was _nineteen-seventy-five_! Technology has far progressed since that time, in both the magical and Muggle worlds! Costs would have halved in the past thirty years!"

Though he kept his eyes on Irons, Harry could see in his periphery that the generals seemed to become convinced of his argument.

"Gentlemen, Archangel is the next generation in warfare. Humanity has conquered the seas and the land, but it has never truly conquered the skies. Why not, then, allow the Empire to once more become the greatest military power in the world by laying claim to the elusive kingdom above?"

Finally, the generals nodded, and Irons smiled grimly.

"Very well, Colonel Potter. You've made a good case," ceded Irons. He opened the black leather folder in front of him and looked at the upcoming Army schedule for a moment before flicking his eyes back onto Harry.

"The final round of Irish negotiations to admit them into the Empire will begin on August of next year. You have until that day to get a prototype working."

"Potter, please stay," ordered Irons as the rest of the council walked out of the room.

The young Potter heir gave a quick glance to the door before turning his attention to Irons.

"My lord?" he asked.

Irons was watching him above steepled fingers in his chair. The old Field Marshall had not moved since the end of the meeting, by which time they'd agreed to recommend to the Imperial Centre the increase in Military Intelligence's budget. New drafts had been fleshed out for placing additional troops in all garrisons, near or far from the Imperial Capital.

Irons gave Harry a searching gaze for a moment before breaking apart his touching hands. He put one arm on his armrest and with the other began tapping on the table.

"You've put me in a sort of quandary, Colonel," noted Irons.

"Sir?"

"The generals," replied Irons, giving a nudge in the closed door's direction. Not seeing any understanding from Harry, Irons sighed. "The generals are asking me to remove you from the council, Colonel."

Harry paled. "I…see, sir."

"Unfortunately, they have provided valid arguments, and many of them are, as you well know, well-connected with members of Parliament," continued the old Field Marshall, ignoring Harry's comment.

Harry hung his head, feeling somewhat defeated. "I…understand, sir."

Irons blinked at him. "Understand what? I've not finished," remarked the older man. Harry looked at his superior somewhat oddly as the older man continued. "The problem with their objections, however, is that if I let you go, I lose a good voice on my council."

"Thank you, sir," mumbled Harry as he bowed his head slightly in thanks. Irons ignored the gesture and plod on.

"Therefore, the only possible way to keep you on this council is to promote you," concluded the Field Marshall, stunning Harry.

"Wha-" stumbled Harry as he felt his jaw drop at the announcement. "But, sir-"

Irons raised a hand to stop any protest. "I understand that no promotion for such reason would ever get approved, which is why I'm adding something else to your duties."

"Sir?" asked Harry, confused.

"The Governor General of Northern Ireland's military commander is retiring next month," explained Irons. "Now, ordinarily, I would assign some other general to the post, but with the upcoming negotiations, I fear the older generals will let old grudges interfere with their duties. As such, I am appointing you as Lord Vicks' head of military."

Harry felt his eyes bulge. The assignment of Northern Ireland was a make-or-break assignment that was usually reserved for older generals who were far more used to dealing with events such as the sensitive situation of Northern Ireland. For him to be given the opportunity…well, it was unthinkable.

Almost unconsciously, Harry pinched himself and thus determined that he was not, in fact dreaming. Irons laughed.

"Indeed," remarked the older man before absently signing a paper in front of him and passing it to Harry. "Those are your new orders. Your promotion will occur in a week or so, I assume, since only a general can be the head of military in Northern Ireland."

Harry shakily took the document and nodded his head in thanks. "T-Thank you, my lord," he thanked the man affably. Irons waved away the thanks.

"You're a good officer, Potter," explained Irons. The Field Marshall suddenly narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "However, let me make something clear, Potter. I am taking a great risk, both in my career and personal life, in going around the other generals to give you this funding and posting. As such, I readily expect that you not disappoint me and show me that my trust in you has not been unfounded."

Harry nodded stiffly. "I will not let you down, Field Marshall."

Irons gave a grim smile. "I hope so, Potter. For all our sakes, I hope so."


	2. Chapter II: Discussions and Discoveries

_AN: A lot of you are going to want to kill me after this chapter, but I apologize for nothing! Everything is important for the plot, including the one discussion in this chapter that's going to make the flames come forth._

_Cheers._

_PS: I ran out of ideas for the book quotes I usually put up. If there's any particular questions I haven't, at least, **attempted** to answer, send it in a review, and I'll try to answer it in the next chapter.  
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Griffin Guard—Home of the Potter Clan and HQ of the Royal Northern Army—Two weeks later…_

Harry fidgeted under his wife's amused gaze for the tenth time. He kept tugging at his uniform, trying to make himself look better than he already was.

An impossible feat, but he wouldn't be a Potter if he didn't try.

Finally, Ginny had enough as she started giggling. "Harry, enough!" she chided laughingly. "You look _fine_, love," she reassured him.

Harry gave her a pleading glance. "Ginny, this is an important occasion! What if something goes wrong? What if he says no?"

Ginny stood from the bed and walked over to her husband, planting a firm kiss on his lips to silence him. Once she was sure she had his complete attention, she pulled back and smiled at him.

"Harry, if you keep pondering on 'what ifs', you'll never figure out what _happens_," she told him. "Besides, you _know_ he's sympathetic to the Imperial cause. He'd be absolutely off his rocker to say no!" she assured him.

Harry sighed. "I know, Gin. It's just…"

Ginny gave him a commiserating smile. "I know. But Lord Irons is a fair man. He'll understand if we need to find another Curse Breaker. I'm sure he won't demote you for it, either."

A week ago, Harry had, in a private ceremony at Imperial Headquarters, received from Field Marshall Irons the crown and three pips that represented his new rank, that of Brigadier. He had additionally been given the rare privilege of being allowed to remain a field commander, despite the rank.

Though Curse Breakers were not uncommon in the Magical World, there were none in the service of the Empire, or openly supportive of the new Imperial Administration. As such, Project Archangel was seriously lacking in skilled Charms and Ancient Runes oriented wizards. However, a break had come when, not five days ago, Ginny had confided in him that she'd overheard her brother musing aloud to Charlie on the merits of entering Imperial service. As such, Harry was now going to try to openly invite him into the Imperial ranks, with much encouragement being provided from Ginny.

Harry fidgeted once more, making Ginny chuckle. She straightened out his collar as she muttered humorously, "If only you were this nervous when _meeting_ my family…"

Harry made a face at her, which got her laughing.

She quickly regained her senses however. "Honestly, Harry. It's only Bill! You've seen him _here_ over a dozen times since we left Hogwarts!" she reminded him. "It's not like you're meeting him for the first time!"

Harry nodded nervously. "I guess," he granted reluctantly.

Ginny simply gave him a reassuring smile before grabbing his arm and pulling him slightly towards the door. "Come on, then. They ought to be arriving any time now."

Harry gave an uncertain smile before allowing himself to be hauled out of their room. At the living room, James and Lily were waiting for them, smiling as they saw the approaching couple. James gave his son a grin.

"Managed to convince you, has she?" he asked, mischievous smile in place. "Good girl" he told Ginny, causing her to grin back. Lily smacked her husband on the arm lightly before giving Ginny an approving smile.

"Of course!" said Ginny, smiling mischievously, "We Potter women know _exactly_ how to keep our men well trained!"

James and Harry gave her an outraged look, but Lily's grin quickly told them how true it was. Both men's shoulders slumped in defeat. Harry looked around curiously.

"Sirius and Remus aren't going to be here, Dad?" he asked. James shook his head.

"Can't. They found a lead on the location of our robber. They went with Maximilian and Matthew to check it out. Alexandra's in charge of Maximilian's duties while they're gone," he told his son, who nodded. They all knew how important it was to recover the artefact that held Voldemort's soul.

Just then, the fireplace flared up with green flames. James gave his son a smile. "Looks like our guests are here."

Harry gulped.

All in all, it was yet another pleasant visit.

The Weasleys (excluding Fred and George, who already knew) had, after a while, managed to come to terms with Ginny's political and social position. Molly Weasley, however, had taken the most time to come to terms with it. In fact, he'd heard from the twins that she had to be talked out of kidnapping Ginny back nearly four times by their father. Apparently, she was the only one who'd heeded Dumbledore's advice of that, much to Harry's relief, since it meant that he didn't have to worry about the other siblings.

James and Lily excused themselves from the visit, however, citing prior engagement at work. Harry had given them a confused look, but James' silent look of "we really can't tell" quickly silenced him.

And thus it was that now, as they finished the prepared dinner, Harry turned to Bill.

"I understand from Ginny that you're a very good Curse Breaker, Bill" remarked Harry. He mentally grinned as Bill's face lit up in pride as the older man turned to smile brightly to his sister. This might be easier than he thought…

"That's right! Work at Gringotts Bank, but I bet Gin-Gin's told you all about that, yeah?" replied the eldest Weasley brother. Harry shook his head.

"I'm afraid she refused to elaborate beyond your enormous skills," he told Bill, smiling ruefully. "She specifically said that if I wanted to know, I should ask you myself," he added, giving his wife a mock-glare. "Tyrant."

Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and the twins had a good laugh at that. Ginny merely gave her husband a superior, haughty look. Mrs. Weasley merely stayed quiet.

"Anyway," Harry returned to the point quickly, "I've done some research and I need a few questions answered, so I can better understand that career."

Bill nodded. "Go ahead."

"How much knowledge in Charms would you say you need to be a Curse Breaker?" asked Harry. Bill leaned back and thought for a bit before answering.

"Well…Charms are a must, truth be told. Many of the old curses are bastardized and twisted versions of charms, most of which we still use, and from which we can find the basic root of the target curse," explained Bill.

Harry nodded. "And Runes?"

Bill smiled. "Ah, now _that's_ an important field to know. Runes, of every variation, occur in almost every cursed location. They often are used to spring traps and the like, but the more creative traps rely entirely on them."

"What do you mean, son?" asked Mr. Weasley, who was listening in, interested.

"What most people fail to understand, dad, is that Runes, while typically used as triggers, can also be used as spell-casters," explained Bill. "Some of the more powerful curses in Celtic and Norse temples have been said to rely entirely on runes. Of course, the _Chinese_ had a different use for them altogether. They used them to power up objects, or give said objects special properties."

"How so? What sort of special properties?" asked Ginny. Bill smiled at his younger sister, pleased at her interest.

"Well, some rune-imprinted objects were projectiles. These the Chinese imbued with empowerment runes and the like, causing the projectile's damage to multiply by several hundred times. Of course, these runes were enormously unstable, so not many projectiles of the like were created."

"Interesting," mused Harry out loud. Bill nodded eagerly.

"It is! The field of Curse Breaking is an ever-expanding one. Every day, we find new derivatives of common spells used in cursing. Unfortunately, not many are interested in researching more fully, so it's sort of hit-or-miss right now."

"And if someone were to offer you the chance?" asked Harry quickly. "If someone were to offer you the chance of researching this field at your leisure, would you take it?"

Bill smiled knowingly as he frowned at Harry. "What are you offering, Harry?"

Harry sighed, just before Ginny smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "You have no sense of subtlety, love," she scolded.

Mr. Weasley's eyes darted from the younger Potter couple to his eldest son, a curious expression in them. "Ginny? Harry? Is there anything wrong?" he asked.

Harry shook his head as he tucked a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his dress coat and held it up for his guests to see. "I was told to give this to Bill by Field Marshall Lord Irons," he told his guests, waving it lazily in the air. "I am aware of its contents, but I think Bill should read it first before deciding whether or not to divulge its contents," he finished, sliding the envelope towards Bill.

The redheaded man looked at the prostrate envelope warily before looking quickly towards his sister, who gave a mysterious, if silent, smile. Slowly, Bill took the envelope from the table and broke the seal. He pulled out the neatly folded paper inside and unfolded it. As he read, his eyes became wider and wider, until Harry could have sworn that any wider, and his eyes would have fallen out.

Harry gave a tentative, "Well?"

Bill merely gaped at the missive in front of him before snapping his eyes to Harry's face, then back to the letter. Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother's exaggerated response.

"Bill, Harry needs to know your reply," pressed Ginny. Bill remained silent for a few minutes before slowly putting down the paper on the table, visibly trying to recompose himself.

"Bill, what's wrong?" asked a slightly frantic Mrs. Weasley, "Are you in trouble?"

Bill slowly shook his head before passing the letter to Charlie. Charlie looked at his brother inquisitively before reading the letter.

He stopped.

Charlie's eyes widened before darting back to the top of the letter.

He stopped again.

Charlie looked up from the letter to Bill, who nodded with an expression that screamed, "_I KNOW!_" Bill then threw him another glance, one that was more questioning. Charlie seemed to struggle with himself for a bit before shrugging and sending back a look that Bill knew meant, "It's up to you."

Bill nodded gratefully to his big brother before turning to Harry, who was starting to worry slightly. "I accept," he stated simply.

Harry gave a sigh of relief while Ginny squealed and dashed to her big brother, giving him a solid hug. Everyone else, save Charlie, was looking at Bill with confused expressions.

"Bill, what exactly are you agreeing to?" asked a worried Mr. Weasley. Bill looked towards Harry, who sighed and nodded.

"Bill has just been asked by my superiors to aid in a program the military is developing," explained Harry, "It entails the use of several…skills that Bill is proficient in," he added cryptically.

Ginny picked up from there, "Bill will be under the direct responsibility of Harry, since his superiors trust him."

Harry grimaced at that. "Actually, I think they're doing it in the hopes that somehow, the whole thing fails and I lose Lord Irons' goodwill," he commented.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Regardless, we know it won't fail. Bill's in good hands."

The elder Weasleys seemed a bit unappeased, however, and Harry's next comment merely raised that feeling.

"There is, however, one requirement that the military asks of Bill," he noted, looking at Bill sharply. The young man merely remained stoic and nodded.

"In return for the opportunity to put his abilities to far more…productive uses," continued Harry, "the military has asked him to disavow any allegiances to the vigilante group known as the Order of the Phoenix."

* * *

"Well, that went well," noted Harry wryly as he put on his sleeping shirt.

Ginny gave a mirthful, feminine snort as she lay propped up on their bed, reading a book. "If it'd gone any better, we'd be needing to replace the dinner table, and your mum wouldn't be very happy with us."

Harry chuckled before joining her on the bed and slipping under the covers. "Well, at least he said yes,"

The conversation with Bill and the Weasleys had gone well until the military's last request had been brought up. Immediately, Molly began protesting rather vehemently, while Charlie voiced several concerns. Mr. Weasley, however, remained calm throughout the heated discussion and simply told Bill to decide however he thought best.

So it was that Bill acceded to the military's demands. Charlie made no further argument at that point, knowing that this had been Bill's dream, essentially, as did his father. Molly Weasley, however, excused herself quite curtly and flooed back to the Burrow. After apologizing for her behaviour, Arthur and Charlie thanked Harry for the dinner and left as well, followed by the twins. Remaining behind, Bill thanked Harry for the job, and was duly informed that as a result of his new job, he would be transferred to Ireland, where the military had begun building a lab, of sorts, for his experimentation. The lanky redhead was then told to show up in two days at the military camp at 6:00 AM sharp so he could begin his work.

Harry was thus now enjoying the comfort of knowing that he'd done his job, and could possibly be promoted within a short period of time. As he lay contemplating his career, however, Ginny shut her book before snuggling up to her husband, who gave her an amused glance before wrapping an arm around her.

"Harry?"

"Mm?"

"Have you thought about having children?"

That got Harry's attention. "Ginny, we've talked about this before…"

Ginny merely squirmed so she now lay on her belly, facing Harry with a glare. "We agreed that until my education was _done_, we would have none, I know. But I'd say my education is currently nonexistent, wouldn't you?" she challenged.

"What about your job?" he challenged back.

Ginny waved the concern dismissively. "Headquarters can't use me at the moment as it is, since my cover's been blown," she told him.

Harry sighed. "Ginny, you're not even of age yet. Heck, I'm not even of legal age yet in the Muggle world for another few months!"

Ginny merely glared at him before turning on her side, facing away from him. Harry sighed. This had been a major contention point between the two. He wanted to wait until she was of legal age by Wizard standards; she did not.

"Look, I'll compromise," he stated as he leaned over and spooned her. "When I turn eighteen, we can try all we want, alright?" he suggested. "We won't even wait until you're seventeen. As soon as July thirty-first hits, we stop using the potions."

Ginny turned to look at him. "Promise?" she whispered. Harry smiled and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

"I promise."

* * *

_Somewhere in China…_

"Are we there yet, Mulroney?"

"Beckett, shut up!" barked the man at the back. "We're there when we're there."

Beckett turned a hateful glare to his superior, though his silver Death Eater mask hid the expression, much to his good fortune.

In front of Beckett, Mulroney navigated the group through the earthy catacombs, a torch in one hand and a map in the other.

"What exactly are we looking for, anyway?" asked another garbed wizard.

"An army," replied the man at the back promptly and curtly.

"An army?"

"Aye, an army," replied Mulroney from the front as he stopped the group at an intersection. He looked at the map for a moment before turning his masked eyes back to the two four diverging paths. "Millennia ago, a Muggle Chinese Emperor form the Qin dynasty ordered his people to create a vast army for him to take into the next world for when he died."

"What's that got to do with this? Muggle bodies aren't goin' to do much good against the filthy Imperial Army's weapons!" protested another member of the group.

"The Council's aware of that, Muller," shot back the man at the back. "You think they'd send us all the way out here for nothin'? Isn't their style"

"I agree," put in the fifth man in the expedition. "The Council's not bound to waste manpower on a fruitless search. Not after that bloody massacre our chaps did a week ago."

"More of a reason not to stoop to using Muggle weapons," grumbled the only dissenting member in the group.

"Stroke of luck, that was what happened," shot the leader. "It was just luck that we even got that piece of information and that they had no warning. If they'd known, we'd've lost that battle."

"That's sedition, that is!" shouted the dissenter.

"That's the truth," replied the leader. "Now shut up and let's keep moving. Mulroney, you know where we are?"

Mulroney consulted the map one last time before nodding. "Aye. I figured it out. We take this," he pointed at the second tunnel, "one. Our destination should be near now."

"Good," commented the leader. "We've already lost Petersen and Arkwood. Blasted traps."

There was no comment to that, but everyone silently agreed. Throughout the massive catacombs, the group had encountered several traps, which, although primitive in nature, were nonetheless extremely effective in cutting down their ranks.

Petersen was killed when he accidentally triggered a trap wall that caused over fifty pikes to shoot out from his left and all but three impaled the poor man from Sussex.

Arkwood, for his part, fell when Muller tripped and, by grabbing onto a nearby torch holder, caused the floor underneath Arkwood to collapse, taking down the new Death Eater into the abyss.

The others, of course, had several close calls of their own. In one particular instance, the leader suffered a moderate injury in the arm when Inferi suddenly swarmed the group from all sides, much to the consternation of the group, who hadn't expected magical defences.

"This army of yours better be worth it," grumbled the dissenting group member.

"Oh, shut up, Rookwood," complained Muller. "Just because your daddy is part of the upper ranks doesn't mean you don't have to do normal work!"

Rookwood flushed red and was about to tell Muller some scathing remark on his own parentage before Mulroney cut them short.

"We're here," announced the Death Eater.

The group swarmed around Mulroney to look, but all they saw was an earthen wall before them. Rookwood turned to Mulroney, red in the face.

"I knew it! You've been taking us in circles! You don't have any idea where we are, do you, you stupid, little—"

"Rookwood, that's enough," chastised the leader, who promptly turned to Mulroney, similarly aggravated. "Explain."

Mulroney, however, was inspecting the wall's bottom, where he found several runes etched into the wall.

"These are Chinese characters," he informed the group as he passed a hand over a few.

"Fantastic. Who cares?" sneered Rookwood.

"We do," shot back Mulroney. "They could be important to our search."

"What do they say?" asked the leader, seeking to stave off Rookwood.

Mulroney narrowed his gaze. "I'm not sure. There are several characters here I've never seen before. I'm going to need some time to decipher them."

"To hell with that!" shouted Rookwood. "We're wasting our time here! Why don't we just blast the damn wall? In fact, why are we even listening to Mulroney? He's a blasted Mugglephile!"

Mulroney turned, red faced towards Rookwood. "I am not! I merely like to understand the enemy I'm fighting!" protested the man. "And if we find this army, we could win this damn war!"

Rookwood snorted derisively, but a glare from the leader, who'd taken off his mask to show his displeasure to Rookwood, kept the junior Death Eater quiet.

Half an hour later, the group had settled down in the tunnel as Mulroney scratched away at parchment he'd produced from his kit. The leader was keeping a sharp eye on Rookwood while Muller and Beckett were playing Exploding Snap.

Eventually, however, Muller stood up and walked over to Mulroney while Beckett made himself comfortable and proceeded to take a nap.

"So, why's this army so important?" asked Muller to Mulroney in a quiet voice.

"It could provide us with much needed manpower. Manpower we need to overcome the Imperials' current advantage," replied Mulroney, not taking his eyes off the writings.

"Inferi aren't going to do much good, though," countered Muller.

"I agree," Mulroney stated simply.

Muller blinked. "Then why the search?"

Mulroney sighed. "Because the army's not made up of humans."

"It's not?"

"No."

"Then what's it made up of? Clay?" asked Muller derisively.

"Yep."

Mulroney didn't need to turn around to know that Muller's jaw had dropped.

"You mean to say we're here to find _statues_?" asked a disbelieving Muller. "What good will _that_ do?"

"They aren't just statues," explained Mulroney as he started to smile. He was slowly managing to decipher the un-translated portions of the text.

"Explain?"

"Remember when I said that the first Emperor commissioned his people to create an army for the afterlife?" asked Mulroney as he made the finishing touches in his translation.

"Yes?"

"Well," said Mulroney as he suddenly stood up and took out his wand. "The use of humans would likely fail in such an endeavour, no? I mean, humans die after a while. So, therefore, he would need an immortal army."

"Okay…" agreed Muller slowly.

Mulroney began to tap the wall in several different locations slowly. "So, the people made him an army of clay warriors. Each unique in every aspect. Each armed as a soldier would…"

"Right…"

"And then," suddenly added Mulroney as he tapped the left side of the wall three times in quick succession, drawing the attention of the others. "They found a wizard and brought him to perform the last task."

"Which was?" asked the leader, who'd been paying attention the whole time.

Mulroney grinned as he tapped the wall for the last time, seemingly activating some sort of mechanism, since the whole tunnel began to shake as mechanized grinds were heard moving from everywhere. Slowly, the wall began to slide into the façade to the right.

The Death Eater turned to his companions. "He brought them to life. He performed a spell that would allow the soldiers' magical energy to be recycled from ambient energy. As such, they could last forever, if one took the necessary steps. They were given the ability to be implanted with intelligence, as well. Of course, eight thousand of them were found by the Muggles several decades ago."

"What happened to the rest?" asked Muller as he watched the wall finish sliding into the right wall.

Mulroney smiled before turning and walking into the pitch black chamber that was just revealed. He then called, "_Lumos!_" and a small ball of light lit up the tip of his wand. Searching around, he quickly found what he was looking for and, calling "_Accendo!_", sent a small fireball at a metallic container just as the rest of the group walked into the chamber.

Mulroney turned to his companions as the fire in the container suddenly began to spread through what appeared to be several earthen canals.

"The rest," announced Mulroney as he swept his arms theatrically, "were hidden right here."

The group gaped as the chamber was revealed by the flames. The feeling of astonishment suddenly turned to elation as they cheered at the sight before them.

Row upon row of clay soldiers stood at attention in the room. Thousands upon thousands of them gazed stonily at the group as the Death Eaters hugged each other and cheered.

The war had just become longer.

* * *

_From: "Weapons of Times Past," by Dr. Craig Hopkins_

_Excerpt from Chapter 5, "China's Army"_

"…_Of all the artefacts that have been left to posterity by our ancestors, none have brought more woe to the world than the allegedly mythical Qin Army of China. For years after its inception, the army was deemed a myth by historians within the magical community, but its discovery by Muggles in the 20__th__ century proved these allegations false. These allegations soon became more focused on the magical properties of the army, which they held were the true mythical part of the story._

…_Unfortunately, none but a few statues, preserved by Muggles, remain this day."_


	3. Chapter III: Framework of the Future

_AN: Just as an answer to a review given for chapter 2: Yes, the Muggle world remains 21st century. Empire's Plight and Empire's End essentially deals with the Magical world catching up to the Muggle world. Hence, Project Archangel._

_But yes, there are cars in the Muggle world. And cellphones. And computers. And every other luxury we have right now._

_However, before any protests come up against the rifles (of which I've had...well, too many to bother counting at this point), let me remind you that, as a fairly new technology, Technomancy has to go through the different stages of evolution. That's why I didn't have the Imperial Army have magic-enhanced M16s right away. Besides, that'd just kill the story. This way, the war's balanced out, with either side being fully capable of winning._

_AN2: Dammit, I screwed up in this chapter. You see, originally, I had Charlie helping Harry out, not Bill. But, as I kept writing, I noticed I needed Bill on Harry's side more than I needed Charlie. So I switched it. Except, I forgot to make the changes here. And yes, Harry **is** a Brigadier. My mistake as well.  
_

* * *

_From: "Protectors from the Sky—The Story of Project Archangel," by Clarence Horatio Winters_

_Excerpt from Chapter 20, "Legacy"_

"…_Though only a few of these majestic ships remain, there is not a single piece of land or water on this planet where their power was not felt. Throughout the Dark Wars, Imperial ships of every denomination, from Retaliation-Class all the way to Empire-Class, battled the forces of the Death Eaters all over the planet._

…_To this day, there still exist many a folk tale that deals with these majestic ships."_

* * *

_One week later…_

Harry looked around the hangar as the engineer beside him described the massive metallic framework that was suspended in mid-air before him. It had been a week since Bill had agreed to his job offer, and now Harry had to go supervise the construction of the first British airship, the _H.M.A.S. Retaliation_.

"…Coupled with the new Eisenheim-Class Turbines, which replace the normal turbines on the ship's stern, the prototype Mark V Magical Energy Generators should be enough to keep the ship moving for a good eleven months before new energy crystals are required," explained the Head Engineer as he pointed at the designated areas on the ship. "Furthermore, in order to provide the ship with its airborne capacity, we've installed six of the new Mega-Class Airlift engines along the sides of the ship, each with retractable capacity."

Harry nodded at the explanation and made a few notes on his datapad, courtesy of the brilliant tech minds of MI-6. Harry then turned his attention to where the command bridge would be.

"What of concerns that the command post is too revealed? I understand that we're going with basic sea-faring designs for the framework, but wouldn't such an exposed bridge allow for easy enemy disabling?" he asked.

The Head Engineer shook his head and walked down the walkway to a better vantage point, from which he pointed out several holes in the infrastructure. "See those holes, General?" Harry nodded. "We've left them there for additional three-hundred-and-sixty degree turrets, which should repel any untoward attention. Furthermore, with the integrated shielding technology, also fuelled by Mark V MEG's, we hope never to come to a situation where the bridge would be totally exposed."

Harry made a soft grunt of assent as he put down several more notes. "What is planned and what happens rarely are the same, in my experience, Lieutenant. But, I suppose it is adequate enough. Now then, what of the hangars?"

The engineer positively lit up at that. "Ah, yes, of course!" exclaimed the man. "Well, ever since we were told that we would no longer need to constrain ourselves in regard to size, what with the few wizards we've got working here to expand as needed, we've been able to reduce the size of the hangar significantly," reported the engineer.

Harry shot a worried look at the infrastructure of the hangars, "Not too much, I hope? Wizards can only work with so much…"

The engineer shook his head. "Not to worry, sir. We've left sufficient space to accommodate them nicely and still cut down on space."

Harry nodded. "Good. Now then, what about docking and housing capabilities? How do we get the actual crew and army men onto these things?"

The engineer nodded. "Engineer Winters would know more of that, sir. Here, let me get her for you," he offered and turned to his left, looking over at a team of engineers pouring over a map. "Winters! Get over here! General has questions!"

Immediately, a white-haired young lady of possibly no more than 28 years of age came running over. She nervously pushed up her glasses as she saluted Harry, who returned the salute somewhat amusedly.

"The Lieutenant here tells me that you're in charge of the housing and docking capabilities of the _Retaliation_. What are they?" asked Harry.

"Well, sir…we're still working on that, but we have a good idea of what we want," reported Winters. "The…uh…mid-level of the ship has ten separate exits running along the side of the ship. Since the _Retaliation_ is going to be the prototype for the rest of its class, we're setting up a docking bay that would allow for ten retractable tubes to connect with the ten exits on each side. In addition, for mass troop loading and unloading, a retractable ramp has been placed in the ship's starboard and larboard hull."

"Furthermore, we expect the actual facility to be upgradeable for bigger ships, although the simplest level of this facility would still roughly take the size of a medium-sized airport. The current facility we're building is in a well sized bay a few miles from here."

"And housing?"

"Ah, yes," said Winters, "We've managed to have our current Head Warder have his men expand several test rooms for us, so we've decided to settle for a magically expanded crew deck."

Harry nodded and made the appropriate notes on his datapad before casting a glance at the framework. "What's the class denomination we're giving this ship?" he asked.

"We're calling them Retaliation Class, sir," replied the head engineer. Harry nodded satisfactorily.

"Good," he stated, before putting away his datapad and clasping his hands behind his back. "Well, gentlemen, miss Winters, I believe everything is in order. How long do you expect before we can actually begin trials?"

Now the engineer shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, with current technical capabilities? Give or take…Five years? Maybe six?"

Harry shook his head. "Unacceptable, lieutenant. We need two of them within nine months, at best."

Both the Head Engineer and Winters gaped at that. "Impossible!" sputtered Winters.

"Sir, with all due respect…" started the engineer, "we'd need at least two thousand more workers, working day _and_ night continuously, if we were to make the six months deadline."

Harry gave them a feral smile. "What about two hundred Goblins with magical capabilities?"

* * *

Four hours later, Harry sat in the Griffin Guard living room, looking at his older brother glare at him. 

"Do you have _any_ idea how much crap I had to go through to get this little idea of yours approved, Harry?" asked Matthew Potter as he ran a hand through his brown hair. Matthew was the only one of the family that truly did not _look_ like a Potter. While Alexandra had a facial structure reminiscent of Lily's, Matthew's was totally outside the Potter genetic pool, as was the color of his hair. Despite the physical differences, however, Matthew was perhaps the most gifted of the lot in the realm of oration.

Harry gave his brother a sympathetic look. "Sorry, Matt," he apologized, "but it _was_ necessary."

Matt sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know, little brother, I know…" he said, "But still, sending me to the _goblins_, of all people, to negotiate their leasing of two hundred construction workers…"

"So they agreed, then?"

Matt gave Harry a mildly offended look. "Of course they agreed! _I_ talked to them!"

Harry smirked at that. "Careful, big brother, or your head might swell."

"Har, har."

"So, what did they ask for in return?"

Matt shrugged. "They want us to share several defensive technologies so they can protect their bank better, and want some monetary compensation."

"Ouch. How much?"

"Enough to make the Crown accountant cry."

Harry flinched. "That much?"

Matt shrugged. "Not unexpected. What we're asking could be viewed as them throwing in their lot with us. The Munchers might not take too kindly to that."

"True…anything else?"

"No…wait, yes. They've agreed to move our supplies from one place to the other, since we're already willing to pay this much. Interestingly, they're doing it for free."

"Really? Unexpected."

"Not really. I mean, we _are_ their best customers as of…" he checked his watch, "...thirty minutes ago."

"Right…so…where's Alex?"

Matt shrugged. "Beats me. Probably tinkering away at some new crazy invention in her lab. You know how bonkers she is," he stated, and was rewarded with a smack on the head as the aforementioned person joined them in the living room.

"I am _not_ bonkers," protested Alexandra Potter as she sat down in one of the chairs, "Merely enthusiastic about my work."

"…Alex, you build weapons designed to kill, maim, and/or destroy people,"

"Your point, little brother?"

"…"

"…Never mind,"

Alex nodded in satisfaction. "Good, now that we're clear on the fact that I am, in fact, _not_ bonkers, perhaps you can tell me, _finally_, how well the Leviathans performed at Snake Fortress?" she inquired. "We never did manage to test them in the extreme cold,"

Harry shrugged. "They worked perfectly. Blew apart those towers in no time at all."

Alex smiled widely at that. "Good, good. That means Max and I can start on the new cannon class we have in mind."

Harry looked at her sceptically. "Alex, is it going to be _bigger_ than the Leviathans? Because I don't think I have enough men or vehicles to move those things as fast as I want to, as things are," he noted. "Which reminds me, are we _ever_ going to be getting updated rifles? Those things we're fighting with belong in a bloody museum!"

Alex shrugged. "It's not for land battles. We're designing the cannons for your pet project," she explained. "As for the rifles, this project of yours seems to have some potential for advancement in that area. With any luck, Max and I should have a new design ready by the time you launch." Harry nodded, while Matt rolled his eyes.

"Don't remind me of that. I just spent three and a half hours trying to convince the goblins to agree to sending two hundred goblins to help construction."

Alex grinned wickedly at that. "Aww…did wittle Matt have trouble with the mean Gobwins? Did they scare ickle Mattie?" she mocked, making Harry chuckle. Matt glared at the two.

"That's right, laugh it up, you two. See how _you_ like being grilled by a race of beings who've spent the last two hundred years perfecting the skill of negotiation into an art."

Harry snickered. "That's why we keep you around, Matt. _Someone_ needs to do the dirty work," he jibed. Matt scowled at him before brightening up as someone came into view from behind Harry.

"Ginny!" greeted Matt, making Harry freeze.

Ginny walked up to the three siblings with a smile and waved at Alex. "Hello, Matt. How was the meeting?" she asked.

Matt grinned wickedly at Harry, who was now looking pale. "Oh, it went fine. Your dear husband here was shooting off his mouth about it again, though," he told her charmingly, making the redhead glare at Harry, who in turn was glaring at Matt, who was merely smirking.

"Did he now?" she asked, before pulling on Harry's ear and forcing him up. "Come on, my love. We're going to have a little talk, you and I."

Harry sighed and followed her out of the room, but not without first giving Matt a dirty look. In the living room, Alex gave Matt an approving look.

"Very cunning, dear brother."

"Why thank you, dear sister."

"Very Slytherin."

"Now, now. There's no need to be insulting."

* * *

Harry staggered out of his room later that day glaring at Matt, who merely gave him a knowing look and snickered. 

"You know, a lot of blokes would be happy about the fact that after every chewing out, their lady would throw them onto the bed and have their wicked ways with them," observed the older Potter with a snicker. Harry glared at him.

"They would, until they realize that in their lady's passion, she tends to get very _rough_," corrected Harry, flinching as he did so when a slight pang of pain shot up from his back.

Matt nodded knowingly. "Nails?"

Harry winced. "And teeth."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "That was some built-up frustration she had. Did you piss her off before this last chewing out?" he asked.

Harry shrugged, wincing again. "We might have had a little discussion about having children a couple of days ago."

Matt nodded, smiling. "Ah, I see. Well, there you go. Might want to go to mum's lab and get some pain relief potions," he advised as he walked away.

Harry scowled at his brother's retreating back. "Berk." He then limped over to his mother's Potions lab and looked for the aforementioned potions.

* * *

_Post-Chapter AN: As I'm writing the third part of this story (Empire's End is already finished. Just not posted), it's come to me that it'd be interesting to see if anyone of you, my dear readers, would be interested in writing out at least a single battle for the Dark Wars, since there'll be a large gap in time coming up. If, by next chapter, I get enough replies to the positive_, _I'll put up the requirements on my profile page. All due credit would be appropriately handed out._

_Marquis Black_


	4. Chapter IV: Vengeance

_October, Four months later… _

Harry scowled as he levelled his gaze on the wreckage around him. Soldiers milled around, raising wreckage and carrying out bodies, in a wide range of corporeal integrity, out into the street, where vast amounts of body bags had been brought in.

"What can you tell me about the attack, Lieutenant?" asked Harry.

The traumatized man, who'd also been the sole survivor of the attack on the normally-quiet and safe village, stuttered at first before saying, "S-Started around midnight, sir. Came out from the north," he pointed out.

Harry narrowed his eyes in that direction thoughtfully before turning to a nearby sergeant. "Sergeant, you take your men over to the north entrance to the village and see if you can find out where they went, or if they Apparated out."

The sergeant gave a quick salute before barking out orders to his men and jogging off to his destination. Meanwhile, one of Harry's aides spoke up at that moment.

"Sir, you should really return to base!" protested the man. "I'm sure that the regional colonel can take care of this situation!"

Harry turned and scowled at the man. "Have you ever been in combat, soldier?" he asked crisply.

The man meekly shook his head.

"Well let me tell you something," said Harry, "When you do go into combat, and you see the horrors _fighting_ men have to face to survive, you'll be just as devoted as I am to see to it that people with _no_ fighting chance are avenged when targeted by these animals!"

Here, Harry paused briefly before adding, "Besides, the colonel of the region died in the attack."

The statement shocked his aides, allowing Harry to return his attention to the shocked lieutenant.

"Now, try to remember," coaxed Harry, "did they say anything about why they were here? Or where they were going?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "N-No, sir. It was the most eerie thing I'd ever heard," he answered at length.

Harry looked at him curiously. "How's that? What did you hear?"

"T-That's just it, sir," answered the lieutenant. "I didn't hear them say a thing. Not one word."

Harry looked at him sceptically. "Nothing?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "It…was like they needed no orders. Like they could fire without pronouncing their spells," explained the shaken man. "Which, you know, usually—"

"Gives you a chance to duck, I know," filled in Harry as he looked at the wreckage around him thoughtfully. "Anything different about these attackers?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "No, sir. They all wore the black outfits and the skull masks."

Harry nodded finally and slapped a hand on the man's shoulder in a comforting move. "Don't worry, my friend. We'll catch the bastards."

The lieutenant nodded somewhat nervously as Harry turned and nodded his head towards a nearby MP officer, who prompted the lieutenant to follow him into a nearby car. Meanwhile, Harry turned to his aides.

"Thoughts, gentlemen?"

The aides shook their heads almost collectively, making Harry sigh.

"The raid sounds pretty much standard, according to the enemy's previous MO," commented one of them, "Mass sudden appearance, village-wide slaughter, followed by subsequent mass disappearance."

Harry shook his head. "This is different. Anyone care to tell me why?" he prompted.

The aides were silent for a moment while Harry observed them carefully.

"There's no Dark Mark in the sky," finally pointed out one of them. Harry nodded.

"That's one thing. Why is that important, first lieutenant?" he asked.

The man seemed to have no answer to that. "Because…the enemy has always liked to take credit for their actions against the Empire?" ventured another aide, this one a captain.

Harry nodded. "True. We're dealing with an entire group of psychopathic megalomaniacs. So why isn't there a signature move?"

"It wasn't done by the enemy?" asked another one.

Harry nodded tentatively. "Possible, if somewhat unlikely. As of yet, we don't know of anyone else who has the guts to pull this off and be willing to face the might of the Empire…"

"Red herring?"

Harry spun to meet the gaze of the major who ventured that last guess. "What was that?"

The man, a recently promoted major, now looked nervous. "A…red…herring, sir?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Very possible. A lure, to keep us looking for a new group, when they could be attacking somewhere else right…now…" he trailed off. He calmly turned to his communications attaché. "Find out if anywhere else's been attacked."

The man nodded, placed a few radio calls, then shook his head. "All clear, sir. No attacks underway at _any_ location. Headquarters reports a calm night, present situation excluded."

Harry nodded. "Very well, so it's not a red herring. Perhaps there's merit to the new group theory after all," he mused aloud.

"It would certainly explain what we found, sir," reported the sergeant as he and his men trotted back to Harry.

Harry stopped pacing the ground and turned to look at the sergeant. "How so?"

"Tracks, sir," reported the sergeant. "A ways off from the north entrance, but they definitely head in this direction."

"Could have turned around, sergeant,"

"Unlikely, sir. See, there are footprints, en masse, heading this way…"

"And…?"

"But the footprints heading away are half a mile east of that same spot."

Harry nodded. "Someone covered their tracks to the town, but did a sloppy job at it."

The aides around him nodded, with many of them taking notes.

"Where does the trail lead, sergeant?"

The sergeant motioned to one of his men, who quickly brought out a map. The sergeant took it and unfolded it in front of Harry before pointing out an area about three miles north.

"There," stated the sergeant. "They go up the path to that same spot. We figure it's a Dark-sympathizing village that founded itself recently and didn't put itself on the map."

Harry nodded. "A nest of insects," he concluded. Though no one else said anything, they all, for the most part, agreed. Still, it was unwise to voice such comments if one was anywhere below general rank.

Harry looked at the spot marked by the sergeant intensively before turning to one of his aides. "Get the men together. Have three hundred men get ready to march and assault. Have one hundred stay here and finish up with cleanup."

The man nodded and saluted before going to a nearby regimental sergeant and relaying orders, which the man relayed by bellowing out his lungs.

Harry nodded in satisfaction before turning to the rest of those assembled. "Sergeant, you and your men are our vanguard. You lead us to that location on your map and we'll followed. Once you spot it, stop and wait for us to get in position," he ordered the gruff man, who looked beyond happy to be given the opportunity to avenge the poor townsfolk who'd been massacred. The man quickly saluted and, giving quick orders to his men, rushed over to the north entrance.

Harry now turned to his aides. "Gentlemen, if any of you are low on ammo, I suggest you go and get some now. Furthermore, if any of you are uncomfortable with what we're about to do now, now's the time to say so. No such man will be deemed a coward by myself. All you'll have to do is stay behind and help with the cleanup."

Out of the group of seven aides, all but two opted to stay behind. The two who did choose to follow the assault team were merely rewarded with a stiff nod from Harry.

"Very good. Lieutenant, Captain, assemble with the men. I need to report to headquarters," he ordered. The two men nodded, gave their contemporaries a sidelong glance, then marched over to where the three hundred men were assembled.

Thirty minutes later, after having made the call to Lord Vicks, who wholeheartedly approved of the operation, Harry marched over to where the column was and gave the assembled men a stiff nod.

"Men, we are about to march towards the den of scum that carried out this atrocity," he announced solemnly. He forestalled any cries of vengeance with a quickly raised hand. "However, we must not alert our enemies to our approach, and shouting will do just that. As such, I want full column silence."

Many unnecessary nods answered him from within the column, letting Harry know he had his men's support. Harry gave them all a hard look before nodding one last time and turning around. Drawing his sabre, letting his fingers caress the leather grip a bit, he raised it high once before swinging down.

The order was clear.

March.

* * *

The column marched forward in a manner quite unbefitting its usual reputation as valorous and disciplined.

The men did not walk with upright backs, but rather leaned forward as they did, giving them a definitive predatorily stance as they stalked forward. No man seemed calm, either. Almost every man in the column, including their NCOs and officers, had fury written all over their faces. The very grip on their weapons made their knuckles go white.

At the head of this column whose silent scream was that of vengeance walked Harry, who had no such look on his face. Instead, there was one of total coolness. Rather than fury, he felt calm. Rather than passion, he felt control. As they'd marched, he even had already calculated the most efficient way to wipe out the village.

Ahead of them, the village lay still in the quiet of the night. Its inhabitants, refugee Dark Wizards and their families who'd fled the raids of their homes after the Fort Valour massacre, lay happily in their homes, content in the massacre they'd just performed. They felt secure in the knowledge that they'd covered their tracks. Besides, the Muggles were too stupid to find anything, right?

And for this reason, none of them even suspected of the advancing column that marched right into the middle of their makeshift town. They never even noticed the town's proximity wards be brought down by members of the 1st Warder Regiment, nor the softened thudding of feet hitting dirt as the soldiers of the 96th Imperial Rifles were divided up among houses. They were so secure in their superiority that when the shout of "NOW!" was given, they merely woke up in time to see the barrels of Imperial rifles staring down at them briefly before loud bangs and stabbing sounds signalled the end of their lives.

In the middle of the village square, Harry stood with his head tilted upwards and eyes closed as the houses around him burned. He could hear the men still at work as they went into each room in every house and butchered the inhabitants.

Screams invaded his ears. Screams of men, women, and any teenager above the age of thirteen as they were shot, stabbed, or beaten to death.

This wasn't a night of civility.

This was a night of revenge.

No prisoners.

No mercy.

None but the youngest would be spared from his wrath. If any child of thirteen or below was found, they were quickly taken outside and corralled together for later transportation to the Arcana Imperial Rehabilitation Centre—the normal facility for re-educating the children of convicted and caught (or dead) Dark Wizards and Witches.

Harry's eyebrow twitched as he heard a female scream from his left. He heard someone running towards him and briefly opened his eyes to see a pretty teenage girl of golden hair and blue eyes running towards him. She was only in a nightgown and seemed to be running from two Riflemen, who were chasing after her from within a nearby house.

The girl screamed at the sight of her pursuers before quickly throwing herself at Harry's feet. Harry looked down at her pathetic form as the girl curled up in a foetal position at his feet.

"Please!" she screamed. "Please! Don't let them kill me! Have mercy!"

Harry looked up to see the soldiers run up and get ready to stab down with their bayonets, but a quickly raised hand halted them. The two soldiers looked at Harry for further instructions, but Harry turned his attention back to the teenage girl.

The young Brigadier looked at her with a long, intense look. As the girl looked up tentatively, she was struck by the lack of emotion in the Brigadier's eyes, but the lack of action from the soldiers made her hope that she might have, somehow, managed to convince them to not kill her.

That idea changed quickly, however, when Harry's eyes turned cruelly cold.

"And when the villagers asked the same, what did you answer?" he suddenly asked. The look of surprised shock and guilt was enough of an answer for the young officer. Harry kicked the girl's hands away and turned his back on her.

He was about to march away when he stopped and turned his head slightly towards the two Riflemen. "Do as you will with her," he ordered quietly. Amazingly enough, even with all the screaming, burning, and shooting going around, the two men heard Harry distinctly. "None of them deserve to be treated as humans. Do as you will with any of our targets."

With that, Harry walked away as the girl was dragged, kicking and screaming, towards a nearby wall, where she was flung against it and then stabbed repeatedly by the two soldiers, who quickly spread the word of their general's orders.

* * *

_Belfast Imperial Headquarters…the Next Day…_

Harry and Lord Vicks finished their meeting on the Irish negotiations nearly five hours after it'd begun, setting a new record for the two men. Apparently, the many British interest groups who wanted to voice their concerns and suggestions and demands for the negotiation terms numbered over three hundred, to the surprise of both men.

The two aristocrats practically stumbled out of the audience room as they made their way to their offices. As they did, however, Vicks suddenly turned his attention to Harry.

"Tell me, Sir Harry, whatever happened to that town you wanted permission to attack yesterday?" asked the older man.

Harry gave his superior a sidelong glance before shrugging and asking, "What town?"

Lord Vicks wisely declined to follow up on that question as he watched the younger man march all the way to his respective office.


	5. Chapter V: Imperial Glory

_AN: I'm happy to announce that two of the battles posted up on my profile have been taken by two authors. The Iron Duke's Halifax Campaign and the Caribbean Skirmishes are thus taken as of now. _

_PS: I'm also noticing a steady decrease in readership for EE. This slightly disappoints me, but never fear, the series will be finished!  
_

* * *

_  
Six Months Later…March 1__st_

Harry woke up feeling slightly drained and looking down at the figure snuggling up to him, he quickly realized why.

After his birthday party, nearly a year ago, Ginny had dragged him up to their bedroom and they'd spent the next four hours making love, despite obvious signs that Harry was becoming ever more tired as the night went on.

Needless to say, he would find out the next day that this would be a repeat process until Ginny finally became pregnant, apparently. Which is why he currently found himself in this position. Naked, and with his wife snuggling up to him, a satiated smile on her sleeping face.

He couldn't blame her, and he had to admit it, it was one heck of a night. Harry groaned, however, when he realized that today was also the launch day for the H.M.A.S. _Retaliation_. He tried to get himself out of his wife's tight grip, but only managed to get her to squirm and mutter in the sleep. Sighing, Harry wondered how he could get himself out of this potential dilemma.

Sighing, Harry decided to be brave and try to wake Ginny up.

"Gin?"

No response. Harry gulped.

"Ginny?" he asked again, a bit more loudly.

Nothing. Wait. A little mumbling…no, nothing.

Harry sighed.

"Ginny, love, wake up," he half-asked, half-pleaded.

No dice.

Harry glared at the roof, cursing every entity out there for making him go through this. With a defeated sigh, he closed his eyes tight and shook his wife awake.

The reaction was instantaneous.

An hour later, Harry emerged from his room limping and wincing every time his arm touched something. Despite this, however, he managed to get himself dressed up appropriately and went over to the kitchen, where his father was currently reading the paper. James was about to greet his son when he noticed the battered condition he was in. Instead, he snickered.

"Woke her up, did you?" he asked mildly. Harry glared at his father.

"How else was I going to get out of that vice grip she calls a hug?" he asked. James merely snickered as he flipped a page. "What's for breakfast?"

James motioned towards the kitchen counter. "Your mum left several pieces of toast and scrambled eggs before she went off to work."

Harry nodded and helped himself to both before pouring himself a cup of apple juice.

"What's on the agenda for today, then?" asked James.

Harry shrugged. "The _Retaliation_ is getting its test drive today. I'm off in after I finish here to go see it. The _Assaye_ won't be ready for another three weeks."

James nodded. "Sirius said to say hi, by the way," he mentioned. Harry looked up from his breakfast.

"Sirius was here?" he asked, confused. It was rare for Sirius to be around these days. In fact, he'd been out on assignment during Harry's birthday, though he'd managed to send a gift anyway.

James shook his head. "Remus was, briefly. Took off about an hour ago after he ate some toast and gave me the latest details on our search," he explained. Harry nodded.

"So, any leads?" he asked.

James shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. We had a good track that led us to Germany, but the thief dropped off the face of the earth there. Remus came by to say that they _thought_ they might know of someone who could know where the thief went."

Harry nodded. "The safeguards on the artefact are still working, though, right?" he asked, not a bit fearfully.

James nodded. "Everything's still working as it should be. Of course, that won't matter much if we manage to find out why Voldemort didn't simply _die_ that night."

Harry nodded, sighing. It was still a complete mystery to the Potters why the Dark Lord had not kicked the bucket when the killing curse rebounded on him. Not even Maximilian had any ideas.

"Any ideas where we could find more clues on that?" asked Harry. James nodded, sighing.

"Unfortunately," muttered James. "We think that perhaps the answer lies in Dumbledore's private library at Hogwarts," he explained. Harry scowled at that.

"Then why not simply take Hogwarts?" he asked, frowning. "My men would _love_ a chance to take down the Ministry and Dumbledore."

James sighed, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, we must adhere to the treaty, and we only have guesses, not solid facts. Guesses will never go through Parliament. We _need_ to establish conclusively whether or not Dumbledore has any knowledge on the matter."

Harry nodded slowly, still of the mind that they should simply reclaim Scotland. Unfortunately, he was bound by the rule of law, and so they could not march northwards until the Ministry of Magic, which had relocated to Hogsmeade, issued a plea for assistance.

Knowing Fudge, Harry guessed that the Ministry would first fall before the man ever requested help from the Crown.

Finishing his eggs and drinking the last of the juice, Harry picked up his plate and put them in the washer before giving his dad a farewell hug and leaving.

"See you tonight, dad!" he called out.

"Have a nice day, son!"

* * *

Harry had to admit. He was impressed. 

Watching from the observatory set up a good distance away from the _Retaliation_, Harry watched with pride as the blue and grey ship was towed atop massive transportation vehicles towards the quickly built launching area, where Harry had designated the first of such facilities to be built.

Harry had a good feeling about the massive ship, though he kept his calm as he remembered that Field Marshall Irons was standing next to him.

"Your reports were very positive about the _Retaliation _and _Assaye_, Potter," observed Irons neutrally, though his eyes were glued to the massive airship.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Well, theory and practice are generally not the same, are they?" remarked the older man. "We'll have to see if this paper project stands up to your praise."

Harry hoped dearly that it did. Otherwise, the failure of the project could ruin him, as it had cost quite a pretty penny, and taken quite a lot of manpower that had to be drawn from elsewhere.

"It'll work, sir."

Irons nodded vaguely as he watched the transports stop moving and the _Retaliation_ docking with the launching station.

"Who's flying it?" asked Irons.

Harry turned to an adjutant, who gave him a folder. Harry opened it and read its contents before saying, "Lieutenant Zachary Hawthorne, of the Royal Navy is the pilot. Captain Nathan Wolf is in command," he reported. Irons nodded.

"And the _Assaye_?"

"Lieutenant Henry McGowan as pilot. Irving Knight in command"

"Recommendations?"

"Hawthorne was pilot of the _Seafarer_ during the North Sea skirmishes. Wolf was in command of the _Triton_ during the Prince Edward Blockade. McGowan is the man who got the _HMS Hermitage_ through that skirmish in the Indian Ocean, back in '95. Knight was his commander."

Irons raised an eyebrow at each mention. "Rather distinguished. The _Seafarer_ was the one that cleared the minefield near Iceland, correct?"

"That's right, sir."

"And the _Triton_ was the one that, despite orders, charged the Killer Angels' ships and broke through, correct?"

"Again, you are correct, sir."

"And the _HMS Hermitage_ was the one assigned to you during the Dark Uprisings in India, yes?"

Harry winced imperceptibly at the dark memories that haunted him of that conflict, but agreed, "Indeed, sir."

Irons looked at Harry curiously. "How did you get them to agree to this test?"

Harry shrugged. "They were all supporters of the project from the beginning. When I heard, I offered them the job, and they agreed."

"I heard no one in the Navy liked this project, though."

"They don't, but Wolf, Knight, McGowan, and Hawthorne are seen as…unconventional."

"I see."

"The station reports that launch should occur in thirty seconds, Lord Irons," called out a soldier near a radio transmitter. Irons nodded and Harry's attention was riveted on the ship, his mind praying that it worked. The tests had come through positive for every aspect of it, but now he had to try it all in concert.

"Ten seconds to launch," called out the soldier.

"Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…" Harry could hear the distant noise of the airship's engines roaring to life, "three…two…one…launch."

Irons and Harry watched as the ship gave a slight shake as the docking tubes were retracted but it was unmistakable that the ship was slowly moving higher into the air. Harry gave a sigh of relief as he watched his ship start to move higher a little faster, realizing that the slow start had not been its usual speed, but probably the recommendation of Captain Wolf.

From his side, Irons gave a laugh before turning to Harry with a grin. "Well done, Potter!" he exclaimed. "Very well done!"

Harry grinned, though he appeared a little pale. "Thank you, sir," he thanked the man, before turning to the radio operator. "Can you patch me through to the _Retaliation_?"

The man nodded and, after a moment of adjusting the frequency, gave Harry the intercom. Harry pressed the speaker button before saying, "Observation post Alpha calling the _H.M.A.S. Retaliation_; Captain Wolf, do you read?"

The usual static sounded over the radio and, for a moment, Harry was worried that perhaps the magical fields operating within the ship were impeding communications, but was relieved when he heard the captain's voice ring out from the radio.

"This is Captain Wolf of Her Majesty's Assault Ship _Retaliation_," rang the voice, "We copy Observation Post Alpha. Is that you Brigadier?"

Harry chuckled before pressing the button once more. "Aye, aye, Wolf. Good job. Field Marshall Irons is pleased. How are the instruments reading?"

"Everything's dandy, sir," came back the reply. "Hawthorne was a bit confused by the controls at first, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly."

"How's the ride?"

"Smooth like a baby's buttocks, sir, just like you said it would."

"What about that small shake at the beginning?"

"That? That was Hawthorne playing around, sir," Harry heard an indignant yelp from the background, "That's right, Hawthorne, you heard me! Anyway, sir, everything's fine. Sensors are working fine, weapons are operational, and all life-support systems are green. Shields are at one hundred percent."

Harry nodded and looked at Irons, who was listening in. The man looked pleased.

"Sir?" came Wolf's voice again. Harry pressed the button.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Hawthorne says he reckons we can start loading up this ship right now, sir. I have to say, I agree."

Harry cast a glance at Irons, who looked pensive. "It _would_ cut down on the time we're spending on this project, sir," observed Harry.

Irons frowned momentarily. "Perhaps. But it would take time to assemble everyone we need," he countered.

Harry motioned for one of his adjutants to come forward. "Sir, we could get everyone here quickly through the use of portkeys. We have a lot of blank ones as is. All we need is to set up a destination for them," he stated.

Irons looked at the floating airship for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Have the portkeys distributed," he ordered. The adjutant nodded before running off to give the orders. Meanwhile, Irons turned to Harry. "I assume you have a method of transporting the crew and soldiers up to the ship?"

Harry nodded as he motioned to a set of plans on the table. Irons moved over and looked at them, frowning.

"These look like shuttles…ripped off directly from Star Wars," he observed rather amusedly. Harry blushed at that.

"Well, it _did_ give me the idea for an adequate transport," he admitted. "We have seven of them operational at the launching station, and ten more on standby on the ship, all stationed in the magically expanded hangar in the lowest deck."

Irons nodded approvingly. "Very good, Potter," he praised, making the young Brigadier blush again.

Irons now straightened up and looked at Harry seriously. "I have to admit that I did not really expect the project to succeed," observed the old soldier grimly. "I had many doubts about the compatibility of technology with magic, but it seems you've managed to prove me and my colleagues wrong. Again."

Harry stayed silent, wondering where this was leading.

"In fact, I have many a general complaining to me about the indignity of having such a young and inexperienced boy sit on our meetings, and have been finally pushed to take action," continued Irons.

Harry felt his heart sink. Were they kicking him off the meetings? Worse, demoting him?

Irons' face suddenly split into a grin, however, as he brought out a small velvet box and opened it in front of Harry. Inside was a small emblem that showed a baton and a sword crossed with a pip above it. It was the symbol of the rank of Major General. Harry gaped at Irons, who nodded.

"After much discussion with the Prime Minister and the Queen, and the fierce backing of Lord Vicks, who is _most_ impressed with your abilities, we've agreed to promote you to Major General for both your previous actions in service of the Empire, successfully destroying a known terrorist bastion, quelling several Dark uprisings here in Ireland, and now providing the Empire with the only known flight-capable battleship fleet in the world, thus putting us back on the number one spot of greatest military in the world," announced Irons, much to Harry's shock. "Congratulations, Major General Potter," he finished.

Harry did nothing but stand there, shell-shocked. Sure, he'd been promised a promotion by Irons if the project succeeded, but he'd never really expected them to come through for him. After all, he knew well that many who deserved promotions were generally passed over for those with connections.

"T-Thank you, Lord Irons. I-I'm honoured," he finally stuttered out, making Irons chuckle. Over the radio, Harry could hear cheering as the crew of the _Retaliation_ listened in on his promotion.

Irons waved away the thanks with a smile. "You deserve it, Potter. Besides, I need a clear head at our meetings. Many of the others are out of touch with how things work. A young, fresh mind is what I need," he told Harry.

Irons then turned serious once again. "As the project's mastermind, the Crown and I have agreed to give you full command of what we've, creatively enough, dubbed the Airfleet. You, and you alone are now at the top of the food chain in this new corps. You can still give command of the ships to Navy captains and pilots if you want, and even assign Air Force pilots to handle your fighters, but everyone must answer to you once they sign on for this corps, understood?" asked Irons. Harry gulped and nodded.

"I understand, sir."

Irons smiled. "Good. Now then, any questions?"

Harry looked nervous. "Just one, sir," Irons nodded, "Why me? Surely, some other, more experienced general would have been given command over the corps?" he asked.

Irons looked at Harry hard. "Potter…Harry," he corrected himself, shocking Harry as the Field Marshall addressed him by first name, "There isn't a single person in this army right now who understands more how these things work or could work on the field other than you. I've had people talk to the engineers and other workmen, and they've all refused to transfer back to their original posts, or accepting another commander. They all want you, and I want a happy army, so I'm giving you to them."

Harry nodded slowly, though he was saddened at the prospect of losing his Army command. "One other thing, sir. Who's to lead my former command, the Ninety-Sixth Rifles?"

Irons smiled. "Ah, didn't I tell you? We're transferring them all to the Airfleet corps as the newly formed First Airborne Legion. They were up in arms when asked if they would accept anyone else. Godric's Hollow is now being refitted as a base for your father's command. In addition, the Seventy-Fifth Highlanders, the Third Welsh, the Fifth Irish, and the First Warding Regiment have been transferred. Additional divisions will be transferred as more ships are put to sea. "

Harry actually smiled at that. This day was getting better by the second! He was now a Major General, had his own corps, and was keeping his men! Of course, that's what made him suspicious.

"What's the catch, sir?" he asked. Irons cocked an eyebrow at that.

"What do you mean, Potter?"

"No matter how happy I am at how much I've gained today, it feels as if there should be bad news accompanying all the good news. So, what's the catch?"

Irons sighed. "Very well. You're right. There _is_ a catch," admitted the Field Marshall. "Many in the Navy, Army, and Air Force don't believe the project should be kept, regardless of the success of the project," he told Harry, who scowled. "We've managed to get them to be quiet for the moment, but not without having first agreed to a condition they gave."

"What condition is that, sir?"

"A series of Dark bases have been found in the frozen wastelands of northern Canada. The condition for these men's silence is that you take the _Retaliation_ and successfully capture and destroy them."

"I don't see what the problem is, sir. We could just blast them from the air or from the coast."

"Perhaps, but these bases are different than Death Eater bases. For one, they're better manned. Secondly, they have dragons."


	6. Chapter VI: Adieu to Olde England

_Pre-AN: For those of you who wish to jump straight into the story and bypass the following AN, activate your Find function in your browser and type /Start/ then press Enter. It should take you to the start of the chapter.  
_

_AN: Well, when I put up that notice in the previous chapter about decreased readership, I hadn't expected much of a reply, but it so happens that I did-both positive and negative. Granted, however, the only negative reply came through a PM, and was sent by someone whose name I shan't disclose for the sake of privacy. Safe to say, dear, that I fully understand your points, but before giving up the story as a bad job, you should perhaps read my counterargument, eh?  
_

_1) The forts - While I agree that many a fort existed along the frontiers of the Empire, one must remember that the Dark War (at the moment) is not being fought on some distant frontier, but in the Empire's very backyard. As such, forts will be positioned adequately._

_2) Project Archangel - Perhaps I was too generous when I spoke of SW. In reality, if anything, the ships are more like the design of the Delphinus, from Skies of Arcadia. Big, stately, and powerful. However, I do not find the referencing of SW as going against my previous arguments. Harry specifically stated that the design of the shuttles were inspired by SW, but that doesn't mean everything was directly ripped. Furthermore, as an Imperial Officer, Harry lives both worlds, and so would indeed be in contact with Muggle entertainment._

_3) H/G Characterization - Granted. It's not very indicative of their romance, is it? But then, I never stated, in any way, that this was a Romance story. In fact, I believe myself to be quite rubbish with Romance. I mean, it's not like a person who's never felt love can actually understand it, eh? I'll leave that to those who've actually got a clue about it. However, despite that, I do not find Harry's previous behaviour towards Ginny to be indicative of him being weak-willed or spineless. With Ginny and his family, Harry can actually act his age and, let's not forget, he's only 18 by this point. Love, in this story, is not a crucial point, but rather Harry's anchor to normality and, consequently, his sanity.  
_

_4) Harry's Personality - Harry's personality is very crucial to the story. I understand that I may be giving mixed signals as to his mindframe, but keep in mind the clues I've given. Harry is a **deeply** traumatized person (and I'm not talking about Voldemort here). This may be the only aspect I gave him that may be considered self-insertion: the artificial creation of a second personality. Harry, during his earlier teenage years, went through something so horrific that it nearly drove him off the edge, giving him the cold steel in his stomach that most generals lack to efficiently run a war. However, due to the fact that this "cold steel" reminds him of the traumatic events, he's repressed it to such a level where you could actually call it a second personality, because when he snaps, he no longer acts like he used to (i.e. he releases every bit of the trauma, rage, desperation, coldness, cunning, and fury that's been kept pent up). _

_5) Chapter IV: Vengeance - I understand that the village massacre scene may have put off many a faithful reader. How, you must be asking yourselves, can I possibly even consider writing such a thing? What is wrong with me for having Harry order his men to do as they would with the prisoners (bearing in mind that the soldiers merely killed the young lass, rather than do anything inappropriate)? The answer is relevant to the previous point, but also shows that Harry, unlike his contemporaries, is perfectly willing to do **whatever** it takes to end the war-even wiping out a village (especially if they're all guilty of murder, torture, rape, etc...). Yes, they are technically war crimes. However, bearing that in mind, do you honestly think either Harry or his men give a damn? They've just seen a village wiped out for being Muggles. Morality pretty much takes a backseat after that. Plus, who'd denounce them? Dead men tell no tales, after all. Furthermore, I've **never** indicated that Harry was a pacifist. Remember Serpent Fortress? He personally stabbed a teenager through the throat for being a Death Eater, despite having surrendered. I didn't hear any complaints then._

_6) Harry's Age - Now this is something I actually expected a lot more people to complain about, rather than just the one. Nonetheless, many of you must be -dying- to hear my reasoning for having Harry a Major General by the age of 18. Simply put, he's a prodigy. He's the fricking Mozart of War. And, frankly, it's not that uncommon to have young men rise to prominence. Heck, Alexander the Great was a regent for his father at age 16, and was King of Macedonia by age 20, and went to war in that capacity by age 21. Augustus Caesar né Octavian was Consul of Rome at age 18. In the Imperial Army, you get promoted through sheer skill, not age. Besides, if you found a prodigy in your army who, despite being decades younger than you, could still beat you six ways through Sunday and still have enough time for tea in a wargame, wouldn't **you** promote him?_

_7) Ginny - My favourite point (and, for some reason, the one I debate the most these days). It's been argued that the Ginny's I've portrayed in EE is essentially a shrew and concerned only for procreation. Perhaps it's just me being the writer, and thus knowing what's coming, but even as I re-read the chapter in question, I found nothing to indicate a shrew-like mannerism in Ginny. In fact, from EP **alone**, it should be obvious that Ginny's temper is not shrew-like. During the final confrontation at Hogwarts, she actually tried to bypass fighting, after all (albeit, for the sole reason that she knew that Harry's men would truthfully shoot every OotP member down)! Furthermore, as far as procreation goes, consider Ginny's mindset. She's a **16-going-on-17 teenager** who's gone through the Chamber events, got recruited into the Imperial cause, has been juggling with the Hogwarts Imperial Spy Network duties, gone out a few times with different boys (before her relationship with Harry), fell in love with Harry during the end of her fifth year, got married soon after, and has gone through her spymaster duties for a full year without ever seeing her husband, whose letter have become darker and darker as time passed. Then, when he comes home, she's forced to see him in secret, sees him go off to fight a battle, only to have Harry's men (who were left in her care) get ambushed and captured, is forced to reveal her identity as an Imperial agent, argues with her family, is taken hostage (briefly) by the OotP, becomes worried for her family and tries to defuse the situation by taking away Dumbledore's ability to use her as leverage, gets Stunned, and is woken up to see everything ended. Then, Fort Valour occurs, and her husband being a Colonel, she knows he'll be part of the action soon enough._

_Ginny is, for all intents and purposes, probably the **most** stressed out person in the entire story. Furthermore, she's extremely **lonely**. She loves Harry dearly, but even then, not seeing him for over a year, then having to see him only in secret takes its toll. Thus, I believe it to be perfectly rational then that she want Harry's child (essentially, a way to always have part of him near her). A part, I may add, that can actually **talk** and **reason**, as opposed to a photograph. All this, then, leads to her using sex as a stress-reliever (thus the battered state Harry usually ends up in), but also a way to allow her to keep part of him near her.  
_

* * *

/Start/ 

_Ireland…five days later_

"Sorry, Harry, but I can't do it, not in that short time," apologized Charlie Weasley. Harry sighed.

"Not even one squadron?" asked Harry. Charlie shook his head.

"Sorry, but the dragons simply aren't trained to be mounted. It'd be risky and suicidal to put them on that ship as it is. If you told me four-five months ago, then it'd be fine."

Harry sighed again. "Unfortunately, I have a week," he muttered. Charlie looked at him sympathetically. "Very well, thanks anyway, Charlie."

"Sure, no problem, Harry. Tell Ginny I said hi," replied the older man.

"I will," assured Harry before he took his head out of the fireplace and cursed as he paced his new office at the launch station. This wasn't good. He had a week to get to Canada, find the bases, and blast them into oblivion, and he had to do it with an experimental ship whose automated guns he wasn't sure could keep up with anything smaller than a Horntail and fighter pilots he wasn't sure could handle the dragons' potentially quicker instincts. Thus, he'd been relying on the hope that Charlie, after being convinced by Bill to help Harry, would be able to provide him with the necessary dragons.

"Damnit!" he cursed as he scowled at the plans laid out on his table. He had several ideas for taking the bases, but each required time, and if the enemy had Welsh Greens or Norwegian Ridgebacks, he would be in trouble really quickly. He cursed again when his intercom suddenly came to life.

"Sharpe and the others to see you, sir," came the male voice. Harry nodded absently as he pressed on the button.

"Send them in, Corporal," he ordered. He heard a brief acknowledgement before he went over to the window and stared out to the _Retaliation_, which was still airborne. He absently heard a knock on his door. "Come in," he called out.

Into his office filed in part of the officer corps of his former command. There was Majors Wolfe and Sharpe, Neville Longbottom (who'd had a commission as a Lieutenant in Wolfe's regiment), Susan Bones (who also held a commission as a Lieutenant, but in Sharpe's regiment), Ernie Macmillan (who served in the Irish regiment as a Lieutenant), and Seamus Finnegan (who also served in the Irish regimen as a Lieutenant).

Harry nodded to them as they stood at attention before him, breaking his gaze from the airship. "Welcome, gentlemen, and lady," he acknowledged as he bowed his head towards Susan, who fought a smirk from appearing. "Stand at ease, my friends."

Harry motioned towards his window. "As you can see, the project was successful in that we managed to raise the _Retaliation_ off the ground. We've also ascertained, through past demonstrations, that our transports are also working. However, I've been informed by Field Marshall Irons that despite our success, we need to prove ourselves militarily to the rest of the armed forces before they stop crying out for our disbandment."

Harry motioned towards the maps on the table. "As you can see from the maps, several Dark fortresses have been found on islands in northern Canada. The good news is, we've been allowed to simply raze them to the ground however we wish. The bad news is that these fortresses have tamed dragons, whereas we don't know if our guns and pilots can keep up with them."

"I've decided not to take my entire command on this campaign, due to lack of transportation capacity, and while you six are coming with me, you'll be given a separate mission in Canada," he told them pointedly, forestalling any protest. "The Welsh regiment will be remaining behind and half of the Irish regiment will be staying aboard the ship during the entire campaign. The Ninety Sixth regiment and the Highlanders, will be put to ground here," he indicated near the first Dark fortress, "twenty miles away from the first fortress. The other half of the Irish regiment will be staying here with the Welsh. The mission will be commanded by Majors Sharpe and Wolfe," he noted, nodding to the two. Both men straightened up as Harry added, "And if you pull this off, you might even get promoted."

"I will be taking the _Retaliation_, under the command of Captain Wolf, to attack the second fortress here," he pointed at the second marked spot, "thus diverting any attention from you onto me. That should force the first and third fortresses to deploy any aerial garrison they have against the _Retaliation_, rather than yourselves. Now then, the _Retaliation_'s shields are expected to be able to last ten hours, during which I am expecting you to capture that first base. After capture, or should you fail to capture it, you are to radio the _Retaliation_ immediately so that we can fall back to the first fortress and take advantage of their faster anti-air weaponry against the dragons. We will hopefully be able to take care of the more dangerous dragons in this plan. If you fail to capture the fortress, then we will regroup at Prince Edward Island."

"Understand this, gentlemen. Everything in this plan is based on the necessity of time. The shields of the _Retaliation_ give you three hours to secure the first fortress, but no more. If the shields fail before you capture the fortress, then the _Retaliation_ will be a sitting duck. Understood?"

A chorus of assents made Harry nod. "Very good. Any questions?" There were none. "You are expected here with your regiments by tomorrow at oh-six-hundred for transportation up to the _Retaliation_. Dismissed."

As Harry watched his friends and officers leave his office, he turned to watch the floating battleship outside with an expression of worry. No matter what he said and did, he couldn't help but feel a sense of worry about this mission. For some reason, it seemed too…irrational. He'd given the Navy and Air Service plenty of leeway as far as the project went, and that should have quieted them.

'No, there's something darker at work here…' he thought as he watched the airship stay floating in the air. 'But what?'

No answer came to him.

* * *

_Next Morning, 4:00 AM_

Harry woke up with the same detached feeling he always got before he went into battle or into a campaign. It was a most peculiar feeling, one that always made him feel as if this was going to be the last time he'd ever witness a sunrise or sunset, only to be later proven wrong.

Not even the least bit tired, despite having only slept four hours, Harry got up slowly, making sure that Ginny didn't wake up. He gave his sleeping wife a loving gaze before turning towards the bathroom and going in for a shower.

As he felt the warm water run over him, Harry leaned forward against the stall, his arms outstretched, as he mentally reviewed his designated plan, trying to find any inconsistency or flaw. It was a character flaw of his, he knew that, but one that had saved his life and that of his men's as well numerous times before.

Absently, he turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his torso in the process. He slowly dried himself as his mind kept going at light speed, trying to discern whether or not anything was wrong in his planning. He refused to believe he'd looked over every single possibility.

He broke out of his thoughts, however, when he stepped out of the bathroom to see his uniform lying on the bed, neatly arranged. He looked around and saw Ginny standing near their bedroom window, leaning against the wall as she looked out.

"You weren't planning on saying goodbye, were you?" she asked softly, her gaze still fixed on the grounds outside.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Harry replied just as softly. "You don't need the stress,"

Ginny stayed silent for a moment before turning, revealing to Harry that she'd been silently crying.

"What if I do?" she demanded quietly. Harry was silent, prompting Ginny to take several strides towards him and grabbing his face with her hands. "What if I need to see my husband alive, one more time?" she demanded again.

Harry looked into his wife's brown eyes and saw nothing but heartbreak and love in them. Still, he did not answer. Ginny curled her hands into fists and lay them on Harry's muscular chest as she leaned in and began to cry. Harry slowly drew his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

"I…I hate it when you have to go," she whispered once she'd managed to regain control over her emotions.

"I know," replied Harry.

"Back at Hogwarts, you'd always write about this mission and that order, and I always worried whether or not the next letter would be from the government, telling me you'd fallen."

Silence.

"I'd always wish Her Majesty would order our return…always wish the nightmare of not seeing you, holding you, would end. Only to find out now that having you in my arms makes it that much more difficult when I have to say goodbye."

"I _will_ come back to you, Ginny," Harry told her as he pulled back slightly and looked down into her eyes. "I swear to you; no matter what may happen, I _will_ come back to you."

Ginny looked at him in silence before giving a sad smile. "That's a promise you know you can't keep," she whispered as tears trailed down her cheeks, "but it means the world to me that you think you can."

Ginny leaned up to give her husband a kiss, one which he gladly returned, as her hands trailed down to the towel around his waist and slowly pulled it down.

After waiting for Harry to pull on his underwear, she held out his shirt, slightly wincing when she caught sight, once again, of the huge scar on his back, into which he slid himself, before buttoning it up as Ginny's arms hugged him by the waist.

Ginny watched him as he sat on the bed and slid on his black pants—part of the new uniform he and his men had to wear as part of the Airfleet Corps. When he reached for his red coat, however, he noticed that Ginny had taken it and held it in front of her, beckoning him to slide into it.

With some reluctance, he allowed himself to slide into the jacket, turning when he'd done so. Ginny watched him with some sadness before helping him button up his coat.

He watched with silence as she backed up a few steps and looked at him with longing. She was about to turn away and return to bed when Harry caught her arm and turned her towards him. The two's eyes met in silence before Harry gave a step forward, pulled her to him, and leaned down to give her a heart-rending kiss.

"I'm coming back to you, my love," he told her firmly once he broke off the kiss. Ginny looked up at him with a sad smile.

"You'll try," she replied, "Just do your duty, my love, and I'll do mine."

* * *

Harry watched in silence as the countryside sped by through the window of his designated car. The driver the military had assigned to him was also equally silent as they made the trek from the Apparating point in Belfast towards the launching area. 

Harry's mind was awhirl with thoughts dwelling on his wife's words. He'd never known his profession caused her this much pain. It honestly tore at his heart to know that every time he'd gone off on some mission, he'd broken her heart. He cursed himself for it, and repeatedly told himself that once the war was over, he'd make it up to her.

'But will I live to see the end of the war?' he thought as the car pulled in at the airfield. He chuckled grimly at his morbid thoughts, eliciting a curious look from the driver, which he waved away.

Silently, Harry opened the door and stepped out of the car, admiring the lit up hull of the _Retaliation_ as it floated in the night sky (as part of its testing, it had to prove to stay up for more than five days). It was his masterpiece—his greatest accomplishment yet. Sure, he had pulled off masterful victories, but Wellington had done that, too. This, on the other hand, was unique; a breakthrough in military and civilian technology—the hybridization of magic and technology at the most basic level.

And he was proud of that achievement

In fact, he was proud to an extent that he figured no other teen of his age would feel for the next decade or so. But then, Harry had always figured that he was most unlike any other boy. By age 11, he'd already been going to the Institute for three years and was rapidly making a name for himself as a hard-working, studious boy. Then there was that issue over Parseltongue when he was twelve, and the subsequent Chamber of Secrets mission.

And, of course, meeting Ginny in the process of said mission. Who knew killing a massive snake could get you the woman of your dreams?

And, unfortunately, the list that separated him from any other normal youth kept going, but he wasn't about to dwell on that. Save it for a calmer day, he decided.

About half an hour later, Harry watched as several buses rolled onto the airfield. He unconsciously smiled at the amount of buses needed to bring his 7,500 men here. It had probably been the busiest morning in the history of England's mass transportation service.

Harry took out his communicator from his pocket and drew it up to his mouth. He had to get this show on the road, after all.

"HMAS _Retaliation_, this is Major General Potter; report in," he ordered. He waited a second before the static was replaced by a crewman's voice.

"This is the Retaliation; we read you, General."

"Start bringing down the ship. The troops are here. Get the loading crew ready on the double."

"Aye, aye, General."

"Potter, out."

Harry hit the activation button, ceasing all transmissions. He watched the articulated buses pull up nearby. He dearly hoped he didn't have to deal with their drivers, since talking to a grouchy driver was not on his list of priorities. Getting the men into formation for boarding, however, was.

He watched approvingly as his officers pretty much ran out of the bus and went to their assigned assembly areas. Immediately after them came out the sergeants, who began hurling insults and orders at the troops inside, making the troops file out rapidly, but orderly.

"Move it, men!"

"The general's watching, you lazy bastards! Move, move, move!"

"Wake up, Roberts, you lowlife! You're keeping the exit blocked!"

Harry had to fight a grin as most of his men began to mutter curses behind their sergeants' backs. He remembered going through the same thing at the Institute, back before he'd actually managed to get into the officer corps. As such, he knew what they were probably saying under their breath as they ran into column formation behind their leading officers.

As Harry watched the men get into position, he absently noted that the man who'd led the flanking action at Serpent Fortress, Douglas he thought he was called, was one of the sergeants who hadn't been assigned the much-hated duty of harassing the troops as they filed out of the buses.

Harry waited until everyone was in position, with all thirty-eight buses now turning back to leave, before he marched up to a position in front of his troops. He cleared his throat to begin his speech, absently noting that the Retaliation was slowly coming down. It'd land in approximately five minutes, by Harry's estimation. Turning back his attention to his men, he ran over his planned speech in his mind once more.

He smoothly drew his holly wand from its holster at his side and pointed it at his throat. As he did so, he noted that many of the troops were looking at it wide-eyed. It was a rare thing for them to ever see his wand, so they considered it a treat.

"_Sonorus_," he whispered, feeling the magic affect his throat. He turned his eyes back to his men as he began his speech.

"Men," he began, his smooth voice amplified by the spell. "Today we embark on our first mission as part of the newly formed Airfleet."

Harry allowed the cheers to die down before continuing. "As our christening mission, we have been assigned the duty of sailing to Canada, where a Dark cell has managed to erect three fortresses, all of which we have been ordered to reduce to rubble."

"I will not lie to you, my friends; this mission will be different—it will be bloodier," he warned them. "The Airfleet, as we have it, is not ready for such undertakings, and the enemy already outguns us by having dragons, while we do not."

"But victory shall be ours! For our experience and devotion to the Crown will carry us out to victory, while their overconfidence will carry them onto only defeat!"

Again, Harry let the cheers die down before soldiering on. "And with our victory, we shall cement a new chapter in the Empire's military history! With it, we shall announce to the world the creation of the greatest military unit it has ever seen!"

"With the iron fist of the First Airborne Legion, coupled with the awesome firepower of the Airfleet, we shall make this victory one that shall never, _EVER_, be _forgot!_"

Harry quietly whispered, "_Finite_," before silently holstering his wand as the cheers kept coming. He had to smile; all of these were good men, good women. Every one of them had cause to complain, to refuse to fight—for they had seen the horrors of war, and yet they still cheered.

Every man in front of him had seen a brother's head explode, or lose a limb. Every woman here had seen a sister's body be torn apart, or defiled upon capture.

And yet they cheered, and followed him eagerly.

Harry wasn't arrogant—he didn't believe himself to be a God among mere mortals. But he knew why they followed him.

They followed because he gave them victory—because he gave them the release, the vengeance they thirsted for.

Harry wasn't blind; he knew that he was a pariah among some of the senior generals and admirals of the Armed Forces. He'd begun as a common recruit, not even beginning in the officer corps. He'd then risen in the soldier and officer ranks through sheer skill in an environment were patronage was preferred. Finally, he was far more ruthless than his contemporaries. Where they ordered capture, he ordered annihilation. Where they gave mercy, he gave swift and damning court-martials, followed by swift executions.

The worst part of it—for them, anyway—was that every soldier in the Armed Forces loved him for it. Furthermore, his military thesis, _Imperial Victory in the Dark Insurrection_, penned and published in the early stages of the Death Eater rebellion, had cemented his arguments in favour of swift and brutal retribution against Death Eaters.

"_Logic_," he'd written, "_dictates that the surest, swiftest method of victory over this insurrection is the application of quick and ruthless retribution upon the perpetrators. War cannot be diminished through illogical arguments of humanity or morality. It must be accepted as the condition it is—brutal, deadly, and lawless. The application of laws or moral codes to the method in which war is carried out cannot be described as anything less than sheer human arrogance, for which we shall pay the lives of the common soldier as the sacrifice._"

It'd been a real slap in the face for the current officer corps when the thesis had become published, and Harry had suffered quite an impressive media backlash when the thesis had been leaked to the media. He'd been called the "Tarkin" of England, alluding to the ruthless general depicted in the first Star Wars movie. His own parents had been appalled at the ruthlessness he'd demonstrated in his thesis, but events had vindicated him.

Specifically, the Death Eaters had wiped out a small village near London. Seven hundred men, women, and children were brutally murdered.

The next day, Harry had been called up to deal with the Death Eater threat. That had led to the Diagon Alley, when he portkeyed part of his regiment (the most elite of them), an action he'd always thought of as time-consuming, and ordered the immediate shooting of every Death Eater in the vicinity. No arrests, no dictation of the Riot Act, no trials.

Shoot on sight.

It had gained him immortality in the Armed Forces, as every soldier (he was generalizing, he knew) looked up to him for taking their side, rather than the enemy's. With very few exceptions, most officers also resented him for making them feel compared to him. They all knew their men wished they were more like Harry, and they were angry with him for it.

But he didn't care. He had his men's loyalty, his wife's love, his parents' pride, and his Queen's favour. It was enough.

Harry could hear the splashing sound of the ship as the _Retaliation_ delved slowly into the water. Slowly but surely, the retractable huge metallic ramps crept out of the _Retaliation_'s sides as it took its place inside the small canal, making its massive hydraulic pistons hiss as they contracted in an effort to bring down the ramp. He then heard the tell-tale hiss of the hull depressurizing as the loading ramps lowered towards the ground, signalling Harry to get his men ready.

Harry turned to the assembled men and, casting the _Sonorus_ spell again on his throat, called out, "Regiments, form up! Load by regiments! Closest one first!"

As it turned out, the Irish were the first to go up the ramp and Harry watched as they made their way up. He grinned to himself. They would find their new Airfleet uniforms in their barracks. He'd decided to leave it as one of two surprises for them.

When Field Marshall Irons had told him of his new command, he'd immediately sent out an order for a new uniform; one that fit their new post. So, he'd gone through the historical archives at Headquarters and stumbled upon the uniform the British had used during the Zulu War. He'd instantly fallen in love with it and had ordered it to be made the default uniform for the Airfleet's Landed Division.

The second surprise was far more useful for the men. After hounding Alexandra and Maximilian for the entire duration of the _Retaliation_'s construction, the two geniuses had finally been able to make a breakthrough in Magically Powered Small Arms as they developed the first cartridge design bullet. They had been forced to reduce the magical potency of the bullet, but it still packed quite a punch. However, as a result of the new cartridge design, the duo were able to upgrade the Brown Bess-like musket design to a Martini-Henry single-shot, breech-loaded, lever-actuated patterned rifle.

With a shake of his head, Harry returned his focus to his mission. He needed to get this show on the road (or the air, as it were), since his plan revolved around his enemy not knowing he was coming. If they ever even got a whiff that his fleet was coming…

Well, let's just say that the Battle of Isandlwana would look like a British victory compared to his defeat.

"General"

Harry turned to see that Blackthorne had apparently arrived amidst the chaos of getting the men on board. The older man was smiling slightly as he bowed in greeting.

"Blackthorne," greeted Harry, a bit surprised at the man's arrival. "I was under the impression that you were under orders from my father to investigate a certain rumour with Sirius and Remus"

Blackthorne nodded. "I am, sir."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here, then?"

Blackthorne's countenance became grim. "I wanted to warn you, sir."

"Warn me?"

"Indeed, sir. "

"From what? Or who?"

"Your allies, sir," came the cryptic answer from the older man. At Harry's sceptical look, he elaborated. "While looking around for clues and rumours alongside your uncles, I came across a rather disturbing truth, sir. Several of the British Armed Forces have begun close contact with the Death Eaters."

Harry's jaw dropped at that. "Treason? In the Armed Forces?" he asked, dumbfounded. "Who?"

Blackthorne shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, sir. I could not find out."

Harry now looked worried. Only a few people in the Armed Forces had clearance to access the plans to much of the weaponry the Roberts had designed. If those plans ever got into the hands of the Death Eaters…

Harry shivered.

Casting Blackthorne a grim look, Harry nodded. "I'll be keeping my eyes open. Does father know of this?"

Blackthorne shook his head. "I haven't been able to tell his Lordship yet. I thought you'd be in more dire need to know, since you were leaving the country."

Harry nodded and extended his hand in thanks. "Thank you, my friend. I shall endeavour to watch my back. Best of luck on your search."

Blackthorne nodded and shook Harry's hand. "Good luck to you as well, sir."

Harry nodded before turning and heading towards the ramp, where the third group was starting up the ramp.

Watching his friend's back as Harry walked away, Blackthorne whispered, "Good luck indeed, sir."


	7. Chapter VII: Revelations

_AN: Finally, the chapter I've been waiting quite a while to release! This one ought to shed more light on Harry's...Tarkin-esque behaviour, as well as its effects on those around him._

_However, before we go on, I've been asked a relevant question in a review that I think I should answer._

_Ginny's Work - Although I've not gone very in depth on Ginny's work, rest assured that, despite no longer attending Hogwarts, she still works for the Imperial Intelligence Centre (or I2C). She, along with Blackthorne, remain the Potters' ears and eyes, both in Great Britain, as well as the rest of the world (Blackthorne more so than Ginny in the international aspect). _

_Background questions are still welcome! Any I find relevant enough to answer would show up in a Historical Vignette._

* * *

When Lily found Ginny after a few hours of searching throughout the Potter Complex, also known as Griffin Keep, the girl was found sitting on the windowsill of the highest level of the Tower of Angels. Not the most welcoming place, seeing as how it'd been originally built as a prison, back in the 13th Century.

"Ginny?" asked Lily as she approached the girl.

"Is it on its way?" Ginny asked simply, her eyes still on the distant horizon.

Lily was about to nod when she realized how ridiculous the action was, seeing as how Ginny wasn't even looking at her. So, she instead said, "Yes. The airship took off about three hours ago."

Ginny merely nodded as she stared silently out the window. Lily walked up slowly to the redheaded girl and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"We were worried,"

Ginny nodded again.

"Ginny, what's wrong?"

Ginny seemed to be slowly cracking, apparently, as silent tears began to slide down her pale cheeks.

"I miss him."

"Oh, honey…" comforted Lily as she grabbed the petite girl in a hug. "We all do. James is positively wracked with nerves right now," she told her daughter-in-law. "He _is_ our only son, after all."

Ginny nodded slowly, her face buried in Lily's dress.

Seeing that she wouldn't get any word out of Ginny, Lily decided to keep talking. "Drives you mad, doesn't it? The waiting? I had to go through it myself when James was in the service, along with Maximilian and Matthew. Granted, I at least had Harry when that happened, to keep me company and keep my mind off things."

Unfortunately, that didn't seem like the best approach, for the young Potter heiress seemed to burst into sobs at that. Lily looked alarmed as she tried to comfort her son's wife.

"Ginny, I'm sorry! Did I say something wrong?" she apologized rapidly. Instead of answering, Ginny merely cried into Lily's dress.

Ginny managed to regain her composure, however, and shook her head once more as Lily asked what was wrong.

"N-Nothing's wrong, Lily…" she answered, "It…It's just that I-I n-never got to tell him…"

Lily gave Ginny a confused look. "Tell him what?"

Ginny sniffed before saying, very softly, something that froze Lily in her seat, sending up a very piercing chill up her spine.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

Lily's reaction had definitely not been what Ginny had been expecting. The petite teen was sure that had it been made to her own mother, Mrs. Weasley would have been jumping for joy and ecstatic (if one ignored the whole "I'm not talking to my mother" thing that was going on at the moment). For a brief moment, Ginny became suddenly afraid that perhaps Lily and James didn't approve of her marriage to their son as much as they claimed to.

"Lily?" she asked, nervously. "Are…are you mad at me for having Harry's child?"

That seemed to break Lily out of her stupor. The Potter matriarch got to her feet quickly and turned to look at Ginny grimly.

"Ginny, I need you to come with me right now," she told the girl.

Ginny's nervousness increased at the older woman's grim tone. What was going on here? What was wrong?

Nervous as she was, however, she nonetheless got to her feet and began to timidly walk after Lily as the older woman made her way down the spiral staircase of the Tower.

Though the trek was initially made in silence, Lily finally broke it as they neared the bottom of the staircase.

"Have you noticed anything wrong with Harry, Ginny?"

The comment in and of itself took Ginny completely off-guard. From her reaction to her pregnancy announcement, Ginny had expected Lily to blast her for getting impregnated. Thus, it took her a few seconds to recover her balance and answer her mother-in-law.

"Err…how so?"

Lily cast a worried look over her shoulder as she strode out of the Tower into the Keep's courtyard.

"Has he seemed a bit…different, lately?" repeated Lily. "Colder, more withdrawn," she hesitated now. "Cruel?"

Ginny visibly halted in movement as she gaped at the Potter matriarch, who'd also stopped to turn and look at Ginny worriedly.

"How can you say that?" she whispered. "Your own son!"

Lily's gaze narrowed a fraction. "It is because he is my son that I ask this!" she shot back. The comment took Ginny aback and made the petite girl take a few steps back.

"Harry is Harry!" protested Ginny. "He hasn't changed at all!"

Lily looked at her sceptically. "Really? He's never changed at all?" she asked. "Never once in his letters did his tone seem to change; the loving words begin to falter; the tenderness seem to fade?"

Ginny was about to immediately refute Lily's claims when memories began to assault her. She remembered how, in her fifth year, the tone and frequency of Harry's letters had suddenly changed. When she had previously received over fourteen letters a week, full of love and promise, his letters had gradually become more and more scarce, until she only received about seven a week—one a day.

His tone, too, changed. He became less open, less loving in his words. He became more official, more logical.

She nearly kicked herself literally for not having seen the differences. How could she have missed that?

She stopped herself there. She knew she hadn't. She'd merely reasoned his change as a result of stress.

"What happened to him?" she asked finally.

Lily shook her head sadly as she turned and began walking towards the building that Ginny only knew as the Conservatory of Knowledge—the Potter House's private library.

"We—that is, James and I—have no idea," admitted Lily as she discreetly twisted her wedding band once. "We thought maybe you could help us with that."

Soon, they were at the gates of the Conservatory, and Ginny was surprised to see James arrive quickly minutes later.

"I got your signal," he told Lily with a worried look. "What's wrong?"

Lily motioned towards Ginny. "Ginny's pregnant."

James paled at that, making Ginny even more nervous. What had happened to her husband? Did whatever happen to him affect the baby? Was it okay?

James grabbed Ginny by the shoulders and levelled her with a look. "Ginny, I need you to be straight with us. Have you—"

"I already asked, James," interrupted Lily. Catching his attention, she elaborated. "Ginny didn't realize anything was wrong until a few minutes ago."

James swore under his breath. He then gave Ginny a worried look, but smiled nonetheless. "I want you to know, Ginny, that no matter what has happened, we couldn't be prouder and happier to know that we're about to be grandparents."

Ginny blushed a bit before whispering, "Funny way to show it," somewhat bitterly.

James and Lily winced at that but recomposed themselves quickly.

"We have a reason for that, actually," offered Lily, catching Ginny's attention. "We're worried that whatever's caused Harry to change might be…well…hereditary."

Ginny, however, didn't see the problem. "Well, if it is, then a good environment for the child will take care of that, won't it?"

James shifted at the counter. "Unfortunately, it's not so simple."

"Oh?"

James winced at the harsh tone his daughter-in-law was taking. "Whatever has affected Harry is not within our genetic pool. We've done extensive bloodlines research, and not one of our ancestors has displayed such…ruthless tendencies. Not even Augustus Potter."

Here, James frowned a bit. It was common knowledge that the Potters had one ancestor that was looked down upon: Augustus Potter, one of Gryffindor's famous Four Generals. Alongside Andrew Bones, Octavian Weasley, and Claudius Longbottom, he had been one of the most respected knights of his day. However, of the four, he had also been the most bloody of them; taking a decidedly harsh stance against the Dark Arts and seldom giving mercy to his male opponents. His only redeeming factors had been that his ruthlessness did not extend to women or children, and that he was a great father and influential in the reconstruction efforts after the wars.

Which is why James was worried about his son. Harry had not extended a shred of mercy against any of his opponents for approximately one and a half years now. At every single engagement, he'd ordered the immediate killing of any of his enemies, without ever resorting to diplomacy or the such. Not even when they got to their knees and begged for mercy did his son spare them. He killed them all—men, women, and even children if they were amongst his opponents.

Which was why he'd been very vocal in his objections against sending Harry to Hogwarts. He knew that, given the chance, he would've put up every single son of a Death Eater not under his employ against a wall and had them shot. Not to mention what he would've done to Snape. Harry would have probably hung him from the Whomping Willow.

"So what does that have to do with my child?" asked Ginny, not a little irritably. She was quickly losing her patience with the two elder Potters.

"We're not positive about this, but we think that if whatever is affecting Harry _is_ on the genetic scale, then it's possibly been designed to be triggered, despite the way he's been raised, at a certain age."

Ginny glared at James. What did her child have to do with any of this?

Lily gave Ginny a pitying look. "Unfortunately, we think that if it's indeed genetic, then your child may have this same trait."

Ginny froze. They couldn't possibly mean…

"And if it does?" she asked in a whisper as her hands instinctively went to her stomach protectively.

Lily noticed the movement and gave her an alarmed look. "No! We'd never harm the baby!" she assured the girl frantically.

Ginny sighed in relief as James nodded. "We'll simply try to reverse whatever it is that's affected Harry. Of course, this is only relevant if the changes are _genetic_. If not…"

Ginny nodded at James' words, but then came to a sudden realization. "Is this why you two haven't had another child?" she asked.

James nodded as Lily looked away. "We're afraid that perhaps we might be wrong on the bloodline theories, and that another of our children will turn into…well…you understand."

_A monster_ was the unsaid thought that permeated all three of their minds.

Still, Ginny remained sceptical at the Potter elders' claim. "He doesn't _seem_ all that cold, though. Are you sure we're not reading too much in this?" she asked.

James nodded. "It's a pattern we've figured out. Harry will usually act like he used to before his change—kind, chivalrous, loving. Until something, some event triggers his darker side."

"Have you figured out what triggers it?"

Lily nodded. "Usually stress, or some sort of negative emotional stimuli."

Ginny nodded. "Have you checked him for spells? Maybe it's just a mood-affecting spell he got and never noticed?"

James shook his head. "Already checked. It's not a spell."

Ginny was confused. "Then why haven't you checked his genetic makeup yet? I mean, can't you just do a spell to find out?"

James shook his head. "No such spell. The only way is through Muggle technology. Unfortunately, getting him to donate some genetic material for research without bringing up his suspicion is…well…nothing short of impossible."

"How come?"

"Well, as a wizard, all he needs is a potion and a quick spell check-up to see if he's fine. There's no need for needles, blood donating, or any such thing."

"What about a wound?"

"A quick _Evanesco_ is all he'd regard as necessary for the blood. If we swabbed it and didn't throw away the napkin or swab immediately after, it would look suspicious, no?"

Ginny nodded reluctantly. "So how do we find out?"

Lily gave her a look. "We can take a genetic sample out of your child, Ginny. It won't harm it," she reassured her quickly at seeing Ginny give her a dirty look.

Ginny mentally debated whether or not to refuse their request but, seeing the elder Potters' concerned looks, decided to give in.

"Fine."

* * *

_Post-Story AN: NOTE: I am looking for a beta! (Or rather, someone I can bounce ideas off of) Send offers by PM!  
_


	8. Chapter VIII: First Blood

_AN: Thanks to all those who PM'ed me about becoming my beta. And an even bigger thanks to my chosen beta, cast2007, who deemed this chapter "postable"._

_As a note, he, too, had a problem with a particular scene in this story. I convinced him otherwise._

* * *

Blackthorne left Griffin Keep with a lighter mind. He'd done his duty and told both Harry and his Lord and Lady of the hidden threat. Deciding to get right back into his search, he took out his transmitter and sent a pulse to Remus and Sirius to tell them he was coming back.

Once he got two similar pulses on his own transmitter, Blackthorne smiled before getting into his car and drove all the way to the nearest Wizard pub. Unlike what most wizards liked to believe after seeing him "disappear" with his smoke trick, Blackthorne was about as magical as a common rock. Rather, an excellent and amazing ability at illusions and a permanent charm provided by James Potter to make him invisible to Mad Eye Moody's eye was the secret to his ability to "disappear".

He found his thoughts rapidly returning to his frustrations, however. Despite his best attempts, he could not find out who the traitor was. So, after a few days of searching, he'd decided to simply tell the Potters and continue on his mission. They were, after all, far more resourceful than he was.

Still, he was nonetheless highly worried. He couldn't, for the life of him, think of any reasons for which _any_ officer of the Crown would willingly consort with the Muggle-hating Death Eaters. What could they possibly have to gain from helping each other?

The question plagued Blackthorne as he pulled up to a nearby parking lot and got out, making his way over to the Wizard pub, the Drunken Irishman. He gave the barkeep a wave (having sometimes simply hung around for a drink) before heading directly for the Floo. He was right about to throw in the powder in the fireplace when a conversation coming from one of the private parlours ground his movements to a halt.

"So has everything gone according to plan?"

"It has. The Potter brat should be on his way by now."

"Good, good. The Council," and Blackthorne could tell that was capitalized, from the way the man had said it, "will be pleased. We've been trying for months now to find a way to get back at him for that fiasco in Scotland."

A scoff. "That brat shouldn't have ever won. His deployment was deplorable! And charging in with his troops! Barbaric!" exclaimed the second voice. "Your leadership was at fault there."

Blackthorne heard no immediate reply, but then stiffened as he heard a person choking.

"You would do well to remember your place, _Muggle_," hissed the first voice. "Remember that _we_ can continue on with this plan without _you_. Do _not_ press your luck."

Suddenly, a gasp of air and some coughing, which made Blackthorne assume that the second man, the traitor he'd been looking for, had been released. Pity.

"Fine," the second voice finally said, the voice raspy from the choking. "When are your people going to move into action?"

"Soon. We're waiting for a signal from the cell in Canada."

Blackthorne felt a very, very cold chill shoot up his spine as the next words were uttered.

"They were able to build the ships, then?"

"Of course," came the amused reply. "Whatever you Muggles can build, we can do so better. Four such ships are now lying in wait for precious Potter."

"And dragons?"

"Of course. Hungarian Horntails and such. We weren't able to acquire any of the smaller variations in time."

"It should be fine, regardless. Potter's little toys are sure to fail in the field anyway."

Fury burned through Blackthorne as he heard the traitor speak so derisively of his friend. 'Shows what you know, traitor!' his mind screamed as he pressed his ear harder against the door.

"What of our reward?" asked the second voice.

An amused chuckle. "Your reward will be forthcoming when the plan carries off without a hitch."

An irritated growl. "That wasn't part of the deal."

Silence. Blackthorne could practically feel the temperature drop. "The deal is whatever I say it is, _Muggle_."

"Y-Yes. Of c-course."

Blackthorne had heard enough. Without looking twice, he turned immediately back the way he came and headed towards the exit, not even paying attention as the bartender looked at him weirdly. He quickly jumped into his car and, turning it on, took it out of the parking and sped off to the Potters' home, racing to tell them what he'd heard. He briefly wondered what was causing the beeping noise from outside.

Had he stayed behind, however, Blackthorne would have no doubt seen the black-cloaked man exit from the room with a cold, cruel smile on his face.

And a recorder in his hand.

Everything was going to plan.

And, if all kept going well…

Harry Potter would be dead in a day.

And then…

Britannia would fall.

* * *

Blackthorne's mind raced as he sped down the roads towards the Potter home. The information he'd found had to be relayed to the Potters quickly. Harry had to know he was flying right into a trap!

As he raced down the road, he forced himself to be calm and review what he'd learned.

The enemy had orchestrated Harry's mission to Canada.

That same enemy is now waiting in Canada in ambush.

The enemy was given by the traitor the plans to the airships.

The enemy has been able to build _four_ of them.

Whatever was happening to Harry, was only a part of a larger plan.

Blackthorne felt a chill run up his spine. Something big; something horribly wrong was about to happen, and he didn't know _any_ details. It frustrated him to no end to be this useless. Still, the Potters—and Harry, most of all—had to be warned.

He quickly wove his way through traffic as he raced back to the Potter household, cursing every time he had to stop or slow down.

He began to feel relief as he neared the Potter Complex's gates. However, as he neared them and saw them open, he stopped himself as a stray thought hit him.

'Why wasn't I caught?' he wondered. He hadn't exactly hidden his presence to the public eye, and seeing someone crouching near a closed door, eavesdropping, should have been called out on. So why hadn't he been caught? Or even denounced?

In fact, why hadn't there been privacy spells on the door? Surely such a private meeting would be heavily safeguarded by the Death Eaters.

After all, it wouldn't do for their spy to get caught, would it?

Blackthorne stiffened as he drove up the path to the house.

Unless they weren't trying to hide it.

Unless they were expecting someone.

Unless they were trying to _find_ someone.

Sweat began to form on Blackthorne's forehead.

He'd never really kept it secret that he was in the employ of the Potters, and had always used that particular tavern when Flooing out of the Potter Complex, since direct Flooing into and out of it was impossible. From conversations with any Light member (and Blackthorne knew the Death Eaters had spies in the Order), they would be able to tell that the chief (permanent) spy in the employ of the Potters was _him_.

So the trap would not make much sense if they expected just any spy to go through that tavern.

Unless they were trying to find _him._

That's when Blackthorne noticed the strange beeping sound he'd heard before at the tavern. It wasn't coming from outside at all, he realized. It came from…

Blackthorne's eyes widened.

His dashboard.

"Oh bug—"

James, Lily, and Ginny watched in horror from the front porch as Blackthorne's car went up in flames as an explosion tore it apart.

* * *

_Unknown Location, soon after…_

A hooded figure swept into the room, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode towards his objective, the man sitting on the mahogany chair in the living room.

The hooded figure stopped within seven paces of the man and acknowledged him with a respectful tilt of the head.

"It's done. I told them, just as you told me, where to find the spy," reported the figure.

The man in the chair nodded gravely, if silently.

A moment of silence passed between the two before the man in the chair said, in a voice that spoke of the man's age, "You have reservations, my friend."

The man in the cloak shifted uncomfortably. "We just sold out one of the Death Eaters' enemies—consequently, our ally—to them," he pointed out. "Pardon me if I'm having moral issues with that."

The man in the chair seemed amused with the comment. "I never thought I'd see the day when morals would affect your mental well-being, my friend."

The cloaked man scowled. "I still don't see why we can't make the Order and the Imperials work together. One has magic and the other has the nigh unlimited resources!"

"The status quo must be maintained," was all the man in the chair replied. "The time is not yet right."

The cloaked man, not for the first time, felt enormous frustration at that answer.

"Fine," he conceded at length. "What's next?"

"You've provided them with the location of the boy?"

"Yes. Getting the information from within their military was surprisingly easy. I heard the Council took advantage of both pieces of information to ambush the spy and set up a trap for the brat."

"Then all is well," announced the man in the chair.

The cloaked man personally didn't give that notion much credit, but pushed his misgivings aside as he asked, "Now what?"

"We wait"

* * *

_Potter Manor, two days later…_

Lily walked out of the room with a tired look on her face. In the living room, James, Ginny, Alexandra, Matthew, Sirius, Remus, and Maximilian were waiting anxiously. Once they caught sight of Lily, she was immediately bombarded with questions, save from James, who merely took her arm and led her to a seat.

"He's fine. He's had massive burns all over his body, and is suffering from a concussion, as far as I can tell," she told her family tiredly. "I managed to repair the internal damage, as well as keep his heart beating—which it shouldn't, by all rights—so he should be fine in a couple of months."

The men in the room nodded while Ginny and Alexandra fretted.

"Any permanent damage?" asked Remus.

Lily sighed before rubbing her forehead. "Unfortunately, he wasn't able to get completely out of the way of the explosion. A piece of metal managed to hit his throat."

Alexandra began crying, while Ginny asked in a whisper, "How serious is it?"

Lily sighed again. "He'll never be able to speak again," she stated dejectedly.

Sirius, meanwhile, looked furious.

"Who could have done this?" he demanded. "Who would have a grudge against Joe?"

"Perhaps someone found out he was helping us look for the thief?" suggested Remus worriedly.

Maximilian shook his head. "It would make no sense," he stated bluntly, his gruff, aristocratic voice belying his worry. "Other than immediate family, no one knows exactly who or what we're looking for."

James nodded. "Maximilian's right. Unless, of course, it was the thief himself…"

Sirius scoffed. "No half-witted thief would come this close to the Potter Complex. Not just to off one of their operative! It'd be ridiculously risky!"

Ginny nodded at Sirius' logic. "As a former spy, I agree with Sirius. No one able to escape our nets for so long would risk getting caught just to kill one of our operatives."

Alexandra looked thoughtful, her rational, logical self kicking in. "Then perhaps it doesn't have to do with the thief?" she proposed. "Or the container, for that matter."

Lily looked at her curiously. "What are you thinking, honey?" she asked.

Alexandra shrugged. "Perhaps it was someone we've offended?" she suggested. "Maybe the Death Eaters, or the traitors in the government, or even the Order."

"The Order? Preposterous!" argued Matthew. "Cowards as they are, Dumbledore would _never_ risk setting off an Imperial invasion of Scotland—not after he just got his treaty. It'd be suicide!"

"Then who?" shot back Alexandra.

"Maybe it was the traitors," suggested Remus.

"Unlikely. How would they know where to find Joachim? For that matter, how would they follow him without him finding out?" asked Ginny incredulously. "He was the best we had in the Muggle division of spies!"

"Death Eaters, then?" offered Maximilian.

"Seems improbable, though," observed Lily somewhat worriedly.

"What do you think, patriarch?" asked Remus, his tone official.

Everyone halted themselves to look at James, who now stood pensive in front of the fireplace. He knew that whatever he decided, the family would have to take as the main course of action.

James thought hard on the situation. He knew that to declare any faction a formal "Enemy of the Family" would mean completely swivelling all the family's resources (including that of their 'vassal' families) from their search towards crushing the offending party.

Not for the first time in his life, James cursed the pureblood traditions he was _forced_ to carry out. While there were many that were simply tradition because it had been the way of their ancestors for ages untold, there were a few traditions that magically bound specific family members to act in a certain way at certain times.

This was one of them.

Thus, James now had to decide the course of the Potter family's actions. Who would feel the wrath of the Potters? Who could he attack without breaking a treaty, betraying Britain, or instigating a full civil war?

He couldn't ignore the situation or state that no one was to be declared an enemy; he knew that. Honour (and the magic attached to it) demanded that the violent action against Blackthorne be avenged with the full might of the Potter family. James winced—he would have to call up the Longbottoms and inform them. Even if they hadn't known of the Potters' survival of the events in 1981, they were still bound by the same oath that their ancestor had made to Alexander Potter in 1600, during the Nine Years War, when the Potter patriarch saved the current Longbottom patriarch from several Irish rebels. Henry Longbottom, grateful for the save, pledged his family to the Potters, despite Alexander's protests to the contrary.

Meanwhile, as James thought, Lily watched her husband with some trepidation and pity. She knew James hated to go through such decisions. One wrong move could cause a great deal of damage to either the family or its reputation, both of which were needed now more than ever, since the Wizard world viewed them as traitors.

She felt fortunate that she'd never been around before when a decision like the one James had to come to came around. She knew it was cold in a way, but she could barely deal with the pressure the whole ordeal was generating as it was. She didn't think she could take having to deal with the situation more than once, which she knew, for a fact, had happened before.

Being privileged as James' wife to enter the Conservatory of Knowledge, Lily had been able to browse through the Potter family's history several times now, and had found that whenever the Potters had declared a blood feud, the events thereafter had generally fallen to catastrophic levels.

Whiles a generally well-mannered and Light family, the Potters were nonetheless known for their prowess in warfare. James himself had demonstrated this talent during his tenure as Royal Magical Governor in several places in the Empire. Thus, whenever a blood feud had been previously declared, the Potters had generally left nothing of their opponent standing or alive.

So it was that she now looked at him with some trepidation and not a small amount of pity. She knew that, as his wife, she was bound to his decision—one of the drawbacks of being married into an ancient, pureblooded family—but despite her own reservations on the custom, she decided to support him throughout the consequences nonetheless.

Finally, to the room's anticipation, James looked up from the burning fire in the fireplace and turned around to meet his family's gazes.

"I've made my decision."

Just then, the alarm went off.


	9. Chapter IX: A Patriot's Tale

_AN: Thanks to my beta, cast2007, for his work. _

* * *

_  
Meanwhile…_

"You _will_ be returning to Hogwarts, young lady!" shrieked the brown-haired woman.

Hannah Abbott looked at her mother with a calm, unyielding gaze that most underage teens would never have been able to adopt when faced with their seething mother.

"I will not, mother," she replied. "I have made my decision. My loyalties do not lie with the Ministry or Dumbledore, but with the Crown."

"Loyalty?" shrieked Mrs. Abbott. "Loyalty? Do not presume to know much of loyalty, young lady! What of your loyalty to your family?" she demanded.

Hannah gave her mother a stony gaze that made even the older woman flinch. "I should think that putting us under the protection of a far more competent administration would be a good show of family loyalty, mother," she replied stingingly.

_Slap_

Hannah's head barely moved as the expected slap hit her on her left cheek. To soften the blow, however, she did allow her head to swing slightly left, thus reducing a bit of the pain. It took all her self-composure not to break into tears at the act of family violence that Ginny—and, by association, Harry—had warned them might occur when their loyalties came to light.

It didn't hurt as much from the act itself, but rather the fact that Harry and Ginny, two people outside her own family, could predict better than herself on how their parents would act.

Just as much as it hurt, however, she also felt vindicated. She knew there and then that she'd made the right choice. She'd been uncertain when she first was drawn into the web of intrigue that Ginny Weasley had created in Hogwarts, pulling in first Susan, then more and more of Hannah's friends until she herself was drawn in.

Ginny had given them all a brief outlook in how the Muggle world worked, including many laws that the Magical world did not. For example, in the Magical world, she was still her father's property, but as far as the Muggle world went, she was her own person. She had rights the Magical world had never dreamed of granting its citizens. Freedom of speech, freedom of belief, of action, and of life.

So long as she didn't violate what (comparatively) few laws were put in place for her own protection, she could do anything she wanted. She could go wherever she wanted (unless it was government restricted, in which cases, a permit was usually necessary); see anything and anyone she wanted; and love anyone she wanted.

The last of these was one of the main reasons Hannah had finally decided to swear allegiance to the Crown. In the Magical world, homosexuality was looked down upon with fervent fury. Anyone who came out into the open in the Magical world as a homosexual was instantly disgraced and, for all intents and purposes, exiled from the community. It was seen as disgraceful and an abomination, and had as such caused quite a bit of grief for the small homosexual group of individuals in the Magical world.

Being raised in an all-magical family, she'd gone to Hogwarts with the same prejudices. However, upon her reaching the third year, she began to take notice more and more of a fellow classmate; a Gryffindor second year by the name of Cynthia Collins. She'd fought arduously against the rising blushes whenever the younger girl came into view, or the continuous desire to sneak peaks at her at the Great Hall during lunches. She refused to believe herself infatuated with the girl, until Susan Bones, her friend since first year, confronted her around mid-fourth year.

_//Flashback//_

"_Hannah, what's between you and the Collins girl?" demanded Susan once the redhead had gotten the two into an abandoned classroom. She didn't want any intrusions, after all._

_Hannah paled at her friend's question. "N-nothing, Susan. Why would you think anything's going on?"_

_Susan gave her an annoyed look. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's how every time she's within eyesight you blush beet red like a tomato? Or how you keep trying to look at her when you think no one's watching?_

_Hannah shook her head fervently. "You're just seeing things, Susan. There's nothing going on between Cynthia and…" she trailed off, her look horrified as she realized her mistake._

_Susan looked at her knowingly. "Cynthia is it?" she asked. Not cruelly, not meanly; merely victoriously. "Are you sure that there's nothing between you and…Cynthia?" she asked again._

_Hannah shook her head fervently once more. "No! Nothing's going on!" she protested, her voice louder now as she progressed into what could be a mild yell. Fortunately, no one ever came around this classroom anymore._

_However, her own personal grief at the statement being true caused the shy Hufflepuff to retreat into a sad silence. Susan gave her a calculating look before asking softly,_

"_But you wish there was, don't you?"_

_In the future, Hannah would never know why she did it. Maybe it was being tired of hiding, or of feeling paranoid every time she thought of the Gryffindor blonde; tired of having to act as if knowing she could never have her didn't hurt. But regardless of her reason for doing so, she nodded to her long-time friend._

_Susan smiled. "I knew it."_

_Hannah glared at the redhead. "What now? Are you going to go off and tell everyone what a freak I am? How I'm one of those…disgusting….bints?" she asked bitingly as she felt tears form in her eyes. _

_She couldn't believe she would be losing everything because of something as silly as who she wanted to be with._

_Susan, however, surprised her when she lay a comforting hand on her shoulder._

"_Of course not!" chided the redhead. "You're my best friend! Why would you think I rat you out like this?"_

_Hannah looked at Susan with teary eyes. "B-but you're from a pureblood family!" she protested, hiccupping every now and then, due to her grief. "Y-your aunt must've t-told you how w-wrong this i-is."_

_Susan rolled her eyes before lightly smacking her friend on the head. "I'm not as blind and bigoted as most witches and wizards, Hannah," she told her friend. "I've been told the truth, and I accept it. You shouldn't be judged because of who you like."_

_Hannah gave a sob before enveloping Susan in a tight hug. The shy Hufflepuff cried her heart out into Susan's robes while the redhead merely closed her eyes and returned the hug, rubbing her friend's back comfortingly._

_Once Hannah had regained her composure, Susan proceeded with offering her something that would forever change Hannah's life._

"_You know, Hannah, there's a meeting that's going to occur this Friday full of people who agree with me on your situation, and others. Maybe you should come," offered Susan._

_Hannah looked unsure, however. "What meeting? I've never heard of any clubs meeting on Friday"_

_Susan gave her a mysterious smile. "We aren't a public club. It's invite-only. Very exclusive."_

_Hannah, despite herself, became curious. "Who's the president? Do I know him?"_

_Susan gave a small laugh. "It's a she, actually, and yes, you do, but we don't call her 'president'. Remember Ginny Weasley?"_

_//End Flashback//_

The subsequent meeting had begun dubiously for Hannah, since she was still sceptical about Ginny's ability. However, by the time the meeting was half-way done, she could feel herself being drawn to the philosophy Ginny was preaching; or rather, the allegiance she was peddling, and the freedom it entailed.

It was unreal, in a way. Hannah had gone to the meeting fully expecting a bunch of rowdy lower years sulking about not being able to be out in the open and was met with a disciplined, diversified group who, despite not assigning any titles to the Weasley girl, nonetheless held onto her every word and command.

Rather than mindless sulking, she found organized debate and discussions.

Rather than just lower years, she found herself recognizing popular fourth, fifth, and sixth years; notably, from Gryffindor House, George and Fred Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell.

And, lastly, rather than dealing with an immature Ginny Weasley preaching around, she was met with a highly mature, well-spoken leader. When many new members like Hannah protested her leadership due to her age, Ginny was the epitome of calm as she quietly addressed the group.

"_When Elizabeth I was crowned Queen, she was seen by many as a weak, frivolous woman who should marry quickly and give the reigns of power to her husband. Instead, she became one of our glorious Britain's greatest monarchs while never taking on a husband. If Elizabeth could lead despite being a woman, why cannot I lead even if I am younger than your honoured madams and sirs?"_

Instantly, all opposition had shut up.

Hannah was nothing less than impressed with the youngest Weasley, whom, she had to admit to her own shame, she had ignored for the four years of her life at Hogwarts, except for the small episode concerning the Chamber of Secrets, who she still, at the time, had not known how she'd gotten out of.

It was only after the next few meetings that Ginny had approached Hannah with a soft smile.

_//Flashback//_

"_How are you enjoying these meetings, Miss Abbott?" the petite redhead asked demurely as she passed by Hannah's sitting spot, where the shy Hufflepuff was putting her notebook back into her bag; she had taken up the habit of writing down notes of some of the things that had appealed to her in Ginny's meetings—notably, the freedom of engaging in romantic relations to members of the same sex in the Muggle world._

_Hannah looked up at the girl in some surprise before smiling brightly back. "I like them very much, thank you. And it's Hannah, please," she insisted to the girl who was rapidly rising in her esteem._

_Ginny smiled as she nodded. "Hannah it is. And call me Ginny, of course."_

_Hannah nodded as the two girls shook hands._

_Ginny, however, plowed right into the heart of the matter._

"_Susan tells me you seem to have a particular…attraction to a girl in my dorm?" she asked the Hufflepuff, who blanched._

"_How could she?" she hissed. "She promised not to tell!"_

_Ginny gave a merry laugh that sounded, oddly enough to Hannah, like a wonderful song._

"_Oh, don't fret, Hannah. It wasn't meant in ill will," assured the pretty redhead. "In fact, if I may say so, perhaps there is a shared attraction between the two of you."_

_Hannah looked at Ginny with wide eyes. She couldn't mean…_

_Ginny nodded smilingly. "Cynthia has always been a bit reserved due to her…condition. When she was raised by her Muggle parents, she was taught of her freedom to choose whomever she wanted. However, when she came to Hogwarts, the prejudices came to light, and she retreated into her shell," explained Ginny. "Tragically, however, she nonetheless found herself falling for a girl. A girl who she knew probably shared the same prejudices as everyone else."_

_Hannah listened to rapt attention as Ginny reminisced._

"_She wouldn't tell anyone, of course, which made her all that more reserved in company. Which, unfortunately, meant her popularity took a hit. As she became more and more reserved, I became more and more curious, and so I sought her out."_

_Now Ginny smiled at Hannah. "This was one week ago. So imagine my surprise when Susan comes to tell me of your attraction to her when the girl Cynthia eventually confided in me she liked happen to be you."_

_Hannah felt her jaw drop. What were the odds? It felt like some uncommon, too-good-to-be-true fairytale. _

_Seeing Hannah's shock, Ginny shrugged. "The world our parents are connected to is a decadent, bigoted one. It holds true to many traditions that the Muggle world, which most of us used to see as inferior, have long since been outlawed in their world. When I was a first-year, however, I was proved wrong in many of my prejudices by the boy who rescued me from the Chamber of Secrets. Whatever our parents say, Hannah; whatever our world claims to be true, know this: our bodies" she touched her own stomach, "our minds," she touched her head, "our spirits," she lay a hand on her chest, "and our hearts," she put both hands over her own heart, "all belong to us. We are what we are. No one has the right to change that."_

_//End Flashback//_

Hannah remembered being so moved by Ginny's impromptu speech that she'd begun silently crying.

Ginny had merely placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and told her to pursue Cynthia, even if it had to be in secret. She'd also promised to bring Cynthia to the next meeting, which she did. And, after a brief, embarrassed silence, both girls had admitted their feelings for each other after the classroom had emptied itself of everyone else. Thus had begun her wonderful relationship with Cynthia.

When the two girls had held each other's hands at the next meeting, Ginny had beamed at them while Susan smiled knowingly before nudging Neville Longbottom, who'd nodded approvingly, in the ribs with a look that screamed "when are you ever going to ask me out?", which the shy Gryffindor boy had merely looked embarrassed about.

That had surprised Hannah, since she'd never really considered the shy Gryffindor as dateable material for the fierier and far more popular redheaded Hufflepuff.

Which was why she'd been slightly mad at both Ginny and Neville when they'd begun publicly dating nearing the Christmas break, during the time of the Yule Ball. Susan had managed to calm her friend down, however, when she was told the reasoning behind it.

_//Flashback//_

"_How could she!" Hannah nearly shrieked as Susan hastily drew her into the same abandoned classroom where Hannah had confessed to Susan her homosexuality._

"_She must've known you liked him!" raged Hannah as Susan tried to keep her friend's voice low. "How could she backstab you like that!"_

"_Hannah, you don't understand!" pleaded Susan. "It's not what it looks like!"_

"_And you're defending them!" continued Hannah. "I can't believe you! You tell me to pursue my own romantic interests but you can't find the courage to pursue yours?"_

_Susan's eyes suddenly hardened and Hannah felt herself flinch._

"_Do not presume to understand everything, Hannah," growled Susan. "I've known about Neville and Ginny getting together weeks before it happened today."_

_Hannah looked confused. "What's that supposed to mean? You sound like it was planned!"_

_Susan rolled her eyes. "Of course it was planned! I helped!" said Susan, exasperated._

_Hannah now looked completely lost. "What? Why? I thought you liked Neville!"_

_Susan gave an exasperated sigh. "I do like Neville."_

"_Then why did you help them get together?" demanded Hannah._

"_Because it was necessary!" shot back Susan._

"_Necessary for who?" yelled Hannah_

"_For all of us!" yelled back Susan. "Don't you get it?! It's a cover! A ruse!"_

_Hannah looked at Susan blankly. "Against whom?"_

"_The headmaster, of course!" stated Susan. "Oh, Hannah! Don't you see?"_

_Hannah shook her head dumbly. Susan sighed in irritation._

"_Hannah, you can't possibly think our meetings are within the knowledge of the headmaster, do you? They're a direct threat to Ministry loyalties, as well as well within the questionable grounds of Light and Dark morality! He'd never allow us to operate!"_

_Hannah blanched. "Are you saying we've been going behind the headmaster's back to do these meetings?"_

_Susan nodded. "Of course! Hannah, think! Who does Ginny assert is the rightful government of Great Britain?"_

_Hannah thought about it for a moment before realization hit her. "The Crown?"_

_Susan sighed in relief. "Yes! The Crown! Hannah, we're all Royalists! Ginny was attracting too much suspicion due to being out late at night sometimes and returning, with no one being able to explain her disappearances. We figured giving her a boyfriend would help the situation, since it's practically expected then to sneak around at night!"_

_Hannah, on the other hand, seemed scandalized. "Dear Merlin, I've been engaging in treason!" she hissed as she backed from Susan. "You lured me into a group of traitors!"_

_Susan shook her head. "We're no traitors, Hannah! If anything, we're the loyal ones!"_

_Hannah shook her head fervently. "Lies! Everything I've seen is a lie!" she screamed at her best friend._

"_It's a lie only if you make it one, Hannah," came a soft voice from behind the distraught Hufflepuff._

_Hannah spun around to see Ginny, Neville, and Cynthia in front of the door. Ginny was standing in front of them, with her fellow Gryffindors flanking her._

"_You're traitors!" she hissed. She turned her eyes on Cynthia, whose gaze was calm and hissed, "I can't believe I actually fell for you!"_

"_I am what I am, Hannah," replied the third-year blonde Gryffindor. "I've never lied to you. You simply never asked who I followed."_

"_We are what we are, Hannah," repeated Ginny as she advanced towards the furious Hufflepuff. Behind Hannah, Susan made a move to stop Ginny, but a shake of the head from Neville stopped her._

"_You lied to me!" asserted Hannah as she backed away from Ginny. "Everything you said; everything about the body, mind, spirit, and heart being mine—all a lie!"_

_Ginny did nothing but tilt her head sideways and looking at Hannah. "Is that what you believe, Hannah?"_

_Hannah nodded furiously and moved to leave, but Ginny's voice stopped her._

"_Before you go and seal our fates, Hannah, think on this. The world I've promised you is not a lie—any man with some knowledge of Muggle law can tell you that much. However, when you give us up to the headmaster, think of the world you're going back to. A backward world—a world of bigotry and prejudice; of hatred and petty jealousy. Which world will give you happiness, Hannah? The world of the one true government, the Crown of the British Empire, or the decadent Ministry of Magic, whose tenuous grasp on our world is slowly being corroded away by the Death Eaters?"_

_Ginny stopped there and a profound silence ensued as Hannah began to hesitate. Finally, Ginny gave her last words on the matter. "Decide carefully on your next move, Hannah. Your own happiness is at stake, our own lives notwithstanding."_

_Hannah paused for a moment before leaving the room, brushing past Neville and Cynthia on the way out. As she'd left, however, she'd briefly met Cynthia's eyes, who'd glowed bright with love for her._

_//End Flashback//_

In the end, Hannah had decided not to go to the headmaster, even though it had taken her nearly four days to reach a decision, during which time Susan and the others continued to treat her as normally as they could. It baffled Hannah, really, that her friends could act as if nothing was wrong, knowing that one word from Hannah could ruin them all. Most of them were of age to be thrown into Azkaban, after all. So, on her fourth day of deliberation, she cornered Susan once more and demanded to know why they didn't act even if a bit afraid.

_//Flashback//_

"_Answer me!" yelled a tear-streaked Hannah. "Why are you this calm?!"_

_Susan merely looked at her friend with something akin to compassion and pity. "Why shouldn't I be?"_

_Hannah glared at her long-time best friend. "If I told the headmaster, you'd all be ruined! Some of you could even go to Azkaban for this!"_

_Susan shrugged. "We know."_

"_Then why aren't you afraid?! Why aren't you even acting repulsed of me?"_

_Susan gave Hannah a sympathizing smile. "We __are__ afraid, Hannah. Make no mistake. Some of us are even downright terrified," she told her friend. "But we're even more afraid of something else."_

"_What?" sobbed Hannah._

"_Of giving up. Of losing a battle we know is right against those we know aren't. To tell you the truth, Hannah, I'd rather go to prison, knowing that the Crown will reassert control one day over the Magical world, than cowering in fear of a system I know is wrong. If I do that, I betray my friends, my country, and myself. I cannot allow that to happen, and so I ready myself for my fate; whatever that may be."_

"_Why, though? Why?" yelled Hannah. "Why are you so ready to lose everything for something you don't know will come true?"_

_Susan had only told her one thing before giving her a smile and then leaving the empty room._

"_Because it's the right thing to do."_

_//End Flashback//_

Steeling herself from her friend's words, she merely gave her mother a defiant look as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Thank you for proving Ginny Weasley right, mother," Hannah stated stingingly. "I will be leaving now."

With that, Hannah turned around and marched to her room, leaving her dumbstruck mother behind. Hannah proceeded to pack up everything she could (mainly clothes), leaving behind anything she couldn't find a use for. She then went to a hidden compartment she'd put into her trunk and dug out the pistols she'd been given as an (unofficial) member of the Hogwarts Loyalist Militia, which was a pretty way of saying, "Harry's Plan B". Tapping them against a nearby desk, she found, to her approval, that they were unloaded. Good, so she hadn't been sloppy.

An unloaded gun at this point, however, was no use to her. So, Hannah went back to the hidden compartment in the trunk and dug out a few rounds, loading both pistols. She knew she had to leave. Perhaps she could go visit Cynthia? No, it'd go against protocol. Ginny had given strict orders to her "agents" (as they realized they were, not that they minded much) never to assemble in one place, as, should their identities become compromised, they could be targeted and taken out _en masse_ if they did.

Fortunately, ever the planner, Ginny also provided for them a safe house of sorts, courtesy of the Potters. That was the location where every agent was to meet up at in the event that they became targeted, or had to leave home due to parental conflicts until such a time when they could be relocated.

Satisfied at having appropriately loaded the pistols, she tucked them into her sleeves' hidden pockets, which she'd tailored in for just this sort of occasion. Hannah gave herself a satisfied smile in the mirror as she held up her arms and didn't see any revealing bulges or marks in them that would suggest a firearm being concealed. With a swish of her wand, she then proceeded to pack up everything she needed or wanted to take with her.

The formerly shy Hufflepuff gave a nod at the well-packed trunk and then proceeded to levitate it with her wand, unheeding the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, as the Ministry no longer held sway in England, and Parliament had overridden the Restriction.

She nimbly navigated the trunk out of her room and down to the living room, where her mother was still standing, shocked. The woman, however, snapped back to her senses when she saw her daughter comes down the stairs with her packed trunk floating in front of her.

"How dare you use magic!" screeched Mrs. Abbott. "You _know _the Restriction—"

"Like I've stated previously, mother," interrupted Hannah. "I do not answer to the Ministry. Over two years ago, Parliament overrode the Restriction. _That_ is the law I follow."

Mrs. Abbott seemed about to start yelling again when she finally realized the meaning of the packed trunk. "And where do you think _you're_ going?" she demanded.

Hannah gave her mother a steely gaze. "I am leaving for the Royalist safe house. I will be welcome there, among my kind."

Mrs. Abbott was stumped. "You cannot leave! I-I forbid you to leave!"

Hannah smirked. "You forbid me? Mother, you are, in essence, a traitor. British law grants me the privilege of disobeying a traitor. Thus, I am leaving. Be thankful I do not simply give you over to the authorities."

With that said, Hannah marched up towards the fireplace, leaving her mother, once again shocked wordless, behind.

The teen was about to throw in the Floo powder in the fireplace when suddenly, the front door exploded.


	10. Chapter X: Above and Beyond

_AN: Both I and my beta were pleasantly surprised by the positive review for the previous chapter (which he calls "Hannah's Story"). Thank you to all those of you who supported this attempt of mine to give the Imperial cause a more human outlook. After all, I'm very well aware that the characters I've mostly shown on the Imperial side were either agents, soldiers, officers, or aristocrats. _

_Nonetheless, I have two (just the two, this time!) replies to concerned readers._

_Hannah's role: While I cannot outright comment on her future role without giving much away, I will say that most of the teens that left with Ginny will not be playing a larger role. In general, they are simply refugees or loyalists who are simply obeying orders. Hannah's chapter wasn't meant to indicate a future huge role, but rather a human side to the Imperial cause._

_Terminology: I'm aware that perhaps the term "Loyalist" may sound awkward within the context of the story, especially alongside the terms "Light" and "Dark". However, I use these terms as a way of showing their "Spectrum Affiliations" (Light, being Light-sided. Dark, Dark-sided. Loyalists, Grey-Sided). In my view, its not cult-like behaviour, but rather factionalism at its best.  
_

* * *

_Two Days Ago…_

**H.M.I.S. Retaliation**

**ETA: 24 hours, 47 Minutes, 9 Seconds**

**Location: Northern Channel**

Harry watched from his command chair at the centre connection between the two larger sectors of the bridge as the technicians got everything ready.

"Progress report."

Captain Wolf went to attention and saluted Harry before giving his report. "All stations report operational status. Radar and Sensors indicate no movement, and, if Intel is correct, expect no signs of anyone for another day or so in our travel vector, General."

Harry nodded. "What of the engines? How are the generators functioning?"

Wolf waited until an aide came up with the needed report and paged through it quickly before turning his attention back to Harry. "Engineering indicates turbines are fully operational. Main engines are running at ninety-five percent energy capacity. Cruising speed is two-hundred and eighty-nine kilometres per hour, sir."

"Ninety-five?" asked Harry.

"It was as high as they could reach without short-circuiting the energy control panels, since the panel is overworked as it is, redirecting all the energy necessary for Weapon Systems and Shielding. In addition, Engineering wishes to remind you that the ship's speed will decrease as we reach our destination until it reaches combat speed."

"Which is?"

"Two hundred and thirty kilometres per hour, sir."

Harry nodded. "I see. This is…acceptable. What of Weapon Systems?"

"Fully operational and good to go. We will be having the crew practice their shots as we go farther into the sea, to maintain our weapons capacity as much of a secret as we can, if anyone's watching."

"Good, good. How good are they?"

"No dragon would be able to get near, sir. The Landed detachment will be trained in it, too, sir—a 'just in case' measure."

"A good decision. What else?"

"Shielding indicates that shields can be fired up now with a two point five second delay."

"This is an improvement over…?"

"Ten point seventy-five, sir."

"Impressive," remarked Harry as he looked outside the window. Absently, he noticed a small bird landing on the hull briefly before taking off again.

"Indeed, sir. The boys have been bypassing a lot of the wiring that the ship came with and overall just fixing it to their liking."

"I'll keep that in mind for future training doctrines, Captain. Now then, what of Navigation?"

"Pilot Hawthorne indicates that our course is still steady, and has encountered no problems whatsoever with the winds picking up outside."

Harry nodded. That answered their questions about the weather's effect on the ships, at least.

"Time to destination?"

"Approximately twenty five hours, sir."

Harry nodded once more before standing up, briefly noticing that Wolf had stiffened to attention when he'd done so.

"I will be retiring for now to my quarters, I believe. The bridge is yours, captain," he told the older man, who acknowledged the order with a stiff salute.

Harry made his way towards the back of the room, where the lifts were waiting, and took the next tube down to the living deck, four levels down.

Despite being the smallest class planned as of yet, the _Retaliation_ class airships nonetheless were large enough to have five decks that he'd essentially documented in his mind as: the bridge, the first Engineering deck, the second engineering deck, the living quarters, recreation, and training deck, and finally the hangar and third engineering deck.

Harry had made a point of asking of the necessity of having the majority of practically three decks dedicated to Engineering early in the planning sessions. It had been one of the main contributors to the project, Dr. Fredrick von Eisenheim, who had explained.

"_The problem vith this new technology, mein herr, is that the need for continuous maintenance is higher than normal. Zee Mark Five generators, for example, are enormous machines, and require just as many attendants. The same applies to zee turbines."_

When he'd worried about the amount of space available for weaponry, however, it had been Eisenheim's partner, British scientist Dr. Edward Lyle (father of one of the two men who served under Harry as captains of their landed regiments) who'd reassured him. The older man had pointed out to the set-apart areas where the guns would go, including a very well-secured spot for the armoury, complete with thicker walls, so no stray shot blew up the entire airship sky-high.

Harry's attention was forced back to the present as the elevator announced its arrival at the Living Deck (or rather, it announced arriving at Deck Two). The smooth, metal door slid open, revealing several troops and other staff milling around. All came to a halt and saluted him as Harry stepped into the hallway, but a wave of his hand got them moving again.

It was tiresome, sometimes, being a commanding officer.

Despite his displeasure with some of the features of being an officer, however, he found himself enjoying the position regardless. If prompted, he could never explain it, other than rebuffing allegations that he liked it for the power and privilege it got him.

He knew it wasn't the power that allured him, nor was it privilege. Heck, if anyone asked his wife, they'd know he _hated_ going to functions, or having to follow strict protocol at certain social settings. Anyone who knew him well and was a friend could tell his opponents that the one thing Harry valued above all else was the ability for him to be just Harry when in private.

His thoughts went back to his reasoning, however, as he passed a group of soldiers (from the Highlanders and Irish regiments, he could tell from their uniforms) who were sitting around a table at one of the deck's many small "Coffee Stops", joking and poking fun at each other.

The scene made him smile unconsciously as he walked past, the group unaware of their leader's scrutiny.

His eyes were then drawn to two more soldiers, a female and a male one this time, who were simply enjoying each other's company as they looked outside one of the ship's many view screens.

It was these small things—the camaraderie, the small, occasional sprouting of love between two people under his command—that made Harry like his job. Oh, he wasn't nearly as optimistic as some of the more radical pro-army advocates. He _knew_, for a fact, that there was more than the occasional fight or brawl, or barbarity committed under his command.

However, rather than make it a reason to hate the service, it merely gave him greater drive to fight it; to reform the service into a more honourable and disciplined vocation. Where barbarity is all but removed and the men and women highly virtuous.

An army of heroes, if you would.

Harry allowed his thoughts to take him as he walked down the metal hallway, avoiding hitting anyone by sheer instinct. He passed by the many halls and doors that led to barracks or training areas; bypassed the mess hall, where he supposed the cooks were preparing lunch. His own lunch would be sent to his room, where he expected he'd remain until needed, probably reading some book or staring at his wife's picture.

* * *

**H.M.I.S. Retaliation**

**ETA: 15 Hours**

**Location: Atlantic Ocean**

"Time!"

"Report" came the gruff order from Sharpe as he looked through one of the ship's portholes with his binoculars. He could see a cloud of smoke in the distance, which would indicate that the shell had impacted, but only the sensors would be able to tell him with any accuracy.

"One moment, sir..." replied the sensor technician as he pressed a few buttons and narrowed his eyes at the resulting screen. "Sensors indicate a direct hit on the last shell fired."

Sharpe nodded, pleased, as he lowered his binoculars. "Timing?"

More buttons were pushed before a number showed up on-screen. "Thirty seconds, sir, with a result of seventy-eight percent accuracy."

Sharpe shook his head. "It's good, but we need better. Macmillan! Finnegan! Get your men ready for another round!" he barked, pleased at seeing the two young men jump before running to carry out his orders. "And this time better be quicker and better, gentlemen! The General's counting on all of you!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" shouted the troops in reply as they scrambled back to their stations.

Sharpe waited until they were all in position before nodding approvingly.

"Now then...Gunner stations! LOAD!"

Sharpe watched as two of the seven soldiers assigned to each battery (30 in total in his particular section) rapidly turned the safety latch to its unlocked position as four more went to the nearest pile of ammunition and, between the four, placed the ME Shell on a rack and, huffing in strain, quick marched to back to the gun.

He hard as the sergeants shouted obscenities and encouragements at the men, trying to prod them to go faster through sheer force of presence.

"Move it, McCormick! You're slowing down the group!"

"Jenkins, move that lazy arse of yours or I'll have it skinned and hung on the outside hull!"

"Mulroney, you slow, piece of scum! Haul arse and _move_!"

At the same time, Sharpe could hear the different acknowledgements given by the station members to each other.

"Shell, in!"

"Mark target at sector five, quadrant thirteen, deflection twenty-four-thirty!"

"Target, marked!"

"Fire for effect as soon as CA is given!" shouted the section chief (who commanded every four batteries).

"CA granted!"

"_FIRE!_"

Sharpe felt the floor shake as each station opened fire with the massive cannons. He almost allowed himself to smile as he knew that the crews had performed even better than before. He wouldn't tell them, but their previous rate had been above the "Good" standards set forth by the testing crews at the Irish construction site. Now, all he had to see was how accurate

"Time!" called Ernie down the large room. Sharpe turned to the sensor technician and repeated his earlier command.

"Report."

"One moment, sir…there seems to be something affecting the sensors…" the technician explained at Sharpe's look. He then shook his head dismissively. "Never mind, sir; it's back. Firing solution ended at twenty-one-point-three seconds, sir. Eighty-five percent accuracy."

Sharpe nodded, highly pleased with the information. "Very good," he told the technician before turning to the awaiting station crews.

"You have all performed admirably, men! I will personally be commending you before the General. However, for now, you are all dismissed! Next exercise for this group is in five hours at the firing range! Misters Macmillan and Finnegan will be presiding, under the supervision of Major Wolfe."

Sharpe watched silently as the men marched out, only catching the low sound of the soldiers talking as they walked out of the firing corridor, though he was not able to catch any actual word. As Ernie and Seamus were leaving, however, he allowed himself to look at the two young ensigns for a moment before returning his attention to the corridor.

He was hard on them, he had to admit (even if he'd let them off easy this time). However, he just couldn't bring himself to see _why_ Harry had asked for those two specifically when he'd been assigned to deal with the Death Eater insurrection. The government, reeling from the 1994 mass escapes from Azkaban and the subsequent massacre of Jaystown, had quickly complied.

Still, Sharpe couldn't find a suitable reason (for himself, anyway) for the two teens to be in the army, and much less, in Harry's elite corps. There was nothing outstanding about them. Ernie was an average battlefield tactician, and Seamus was no good at directing infantry, of which most of Harry's corps was made up of.

So, as Sharpe watched the next group to be drilled walk into the corridor, he asked himself one more time.

'Why did he choose them?'

* * *

**H.M.I.S. Retaliation**

**ETA: 3 hours**

**Location: Near Prince Edward Island, Canada**

"Mark your targets, men!" shouted Neville as he observed his platoon members quietly pick their targets and cocked their muskets.

Neville gave his men a few seconds to get ready before shouting, "FIRE!"

Almost instantaneously, every rifle went off and Neville could hear the whizzing sound of the bullets as they made their way and eventually struck their targets. Every man put down their rifles and now stood at attention.

Quietly, Neville pressed a button on the wall beside him and the fifty targets began moving towards their shooters for his inspection.

Neville observed, proudly, that every target had at least five "kill" hits marked on it out of seven fired. It was a rare thing, considering the unfamiliarity of the new rifles, but obviously, his men had overcome its newness.

"How many misses, Longbottom?" came a flirtatious voice behind him as he observed the last target.

Neville grinned as he turned, recognizing Susan's voice. He raised an eyebrow at the redhead as she approached his platoon, who were standing upright and stony-faced. Neville knew better, though. He knew most of them were itching to laugh. It was sort of a game between Susan and he—one that his men enjoyed to watch.

Knowing this, however, Neville decided to cut their fun short. This was, after all, private.

"Alright, men. Dismissed. Good work, all of you," he told them, and amused himself by watching their somewhat disappointed looks as they marched out of the shooting hall.

Neville turned back to Susan to find her pouting.

"You're no fun," she whined. Neville grinned.

"And you're dangerously inappropriate," he countered. "You know regulations forbid open displays of affection between officers and between soldiers while on duty. It's only because we serve under Harry, who frankly doesn't give a damn, that you've gotten away with it."

Susan pouted. "What's the point of being allowed to do it, then, if you won't?"

Neville chuckled as he shook his head. "There's a difference between what's allowed, my dear…and what's _ignored_."

Susan laughed before gently smacking Neville's chest. "You really need to lighten up, Longbottom."

Quick as lightning, Neville's hand shot out and grabbed Susan's as it reared away from his chest and pulled her close, his free arm wrapping around her toned waist.

"Do I?" he asked in a husky voice that made Susan shiver. "My dear, if you only but _knew_ what I wanted to do, I'd say you'd be very much…appreciative"

Susan shivered once more before whispering. "Which is…?"

Neville slowly dipped his head closer to hers. Then, just as quickly as he'd caught her hand, he grinned, kissed her on the cheek, and pulled back.

"For me to know, and for you to agonize about," he told her laughingly before turning and walking out of the shooting range, leaving a shocked Susan behind. The redheaded girl stood stock still for a moment, worrying the few remaining people in the range (who'd, up to this point, mightily enjoyed the interplay going on), before shivering in pleasure and then reddening in irritation.

"_LONGBOTTOM!_" she screamed as she tore out of the room, leaving the range full of laughing onlookers.

As she tore through the hallways, Susan allowed herself to fall back into memories of her time with Neville.

She remembered how, during their second year at Hogwarts, Neville had been so kind to her in Herbology when she'd needed help. Though she could tell that he wasn't exactly "Mr. Popular," he never seemed to mind being overlooked, nor to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. He was loyal, and that was something that interested her.

Of course, by then, she'd stoutly refused to accept her own infatuation, as she was rapidly becoming the most popular girl in her year in Hufflepuff. As such, she couldn't be seen hanging around someone like Neville.

However, it wasn't until the beginning of third year when she began to admit to herself her own feelings. It'd helped Neville's cause (unknowingly or not) that he'd begun to lose his baby fat and had grown slightly, causing his round face to become much more angular and square. However, she'd soon thought her chances shot as he began to hang around Ginny Weasley more and more.

She had been at the edge of giving up on him when she'd begun to reason out the two's relationship more closely. From what she'd seen, the two were simply very good friends, and nothing more—with no real indications that either wanted more.

She'd begun to keep a closer eye on the two, just to see how things developed, to the point where Ginny actually noticed and—apparently—told Neville, as he approached her soon after and kindly invited her to study with them that Friday evening in this nice, quiet room they'd found.

Though she could have easily declined the invitation, Susan found herself attracted by the slightly mysterious quality of it, and accepted.

That was when Ginny recruited her, so to speak. The younger redhead had innocently and subtly implanted suggestions and observations in their conversation that slowly had convinced her of their cause.

Not that she resented Ginny for it, of course. The younger witch had been vindicated by every subsequent event.

'So she's not only powerful and pretty,' she concluded as she neared Neville's quarters, 'But she's also a skilled speaker.'

Finally, the fiery redhead arrived at Neville's private quarters (one of which was provided for every commissioned officer). She was mildly surprised that he'd made his way back so fast, while she'd torn out of the room so quickly.

She quickly typed in the code necessary to open the door and waited for the code to be processed, before going through the now open doorway.

Inside, she found Neville sitting at behind his desk/dinner table, his feet propped up on the surface and looking at her smugly.

"What took you so long?" he asked cheekily. Susan growled before stalking forward, ready to give him a piece of her mind. She was stopped, however, when Neville swung around his legs and stood up, quickly moving up to Susan and pinning her to the wall, her arms over her head, against the wall.

"What say we dispense of the lecture, dear…" whispered Neville into her ear before nibbling on her earlobe, making her gasp. "And entertain ourselves in an…alternate fashion?"

Susan gasped for air as she tried to get her mind back online, since the pleasure overload Neville was giving her was making it hard for her to think.

"Y…Yes…" she mumbled eventually, as soon as she could regain her ability of speech. "We….should…"

Neville grinned into her hair as he stopped nibbling on her earlobe, which he knew was a sensitive spot for her. She'd told him that herself, so if she was against his use of it, she had no one but herself to blame.

With her agreement finally vocalized, Neville absently slammed his fist into a nearby button, which extended his bed from the wall opposite to them and, with one fluid motion, brought them both onto it. Neville grinned down at Susan from his position above her before saying,

"Hope you enjoy yourself, then, dear."

* * *

**H.M.I.S. Retaliation**

**ETA: 1 hour 35 minutes**

**Location: Labrador Sea**

Hawthorne stretched lazily as he gazed at the blinking console to his right. Though still somewhat new to the fancy equipment on the _Retaliation_, Hawthorne could deduce by now that this one indicated atmospheric conditions outside. By the looks of it, there was going to be some storm systems around their target area by the time they arrived.

Hawthorne shrugged. Considering what he'd seen the _Retaliation_ take previously (including one very heavy thunderstorm over the mid-Atlantic), he wasn't all that worried. Still, he supposed he'd better report the atmospheric change, just in case.

Leaning back in his (quite comfortable) chair, he looked behind him and saw one of the ship's many engineers, Lieutenant Jillian King. One of the youngest engineers onboard (approximately 20 years old), she'd been assigned to the command deck as a logging engineer, in order to catalogue every occurrence and readout made in the voyage. It was entry-level work, yes, and more fit for a secretary, but considering her age and experience (or lack thereof) in the field, it was the only position she could have been given onboard the _Retaliation_. Still, she did her job with little fuss.

"Hey, Jill!" prompted Hawthorne.

The brunette Lieutenant sighed as she turned from her logging console. "Yes, _pilot_?" she asked, stressing out his job title, as if reminding him of proper conduct. Not that Hawthorne gave a damn, though.

"Storm systems forming up over target and area. Console indicates level five storms. Also, a bit of high-density clouds forming up above us," he told her before giving her a lopsided grin. "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Zach?"

Jill sighed as she typed in the new information and shook her head as she replied, "At least one more time, _pilot_."

"Fine. Call me Zach, not pilot."

"I was being figurative."

"I'll say you do."

"What?"

"Have a nice figure."

"…._pilot_..."

"Yes'm?"

"Why don't you do us all a favour and start _being_ one?"

Laughter rang out in the deck as their colleagues enjoyed the cutting remark. A few catcalls and shouts of encouragement were given by the rest of the crew as Hawthorne gave Jill a mock hurt look.

"You wound me, Jill! You're saying I'm not a good pilot?" he asked her in mock sorrow.

The young lieutenant rolled her eyes before turning back to her computer. "Let's just say there isn't much evidence of it, so I'm being sceptical."

Hawthorne pouted at the comment. "Fine, be that way. See if I save this hunk of junk's hide when-"

When what would occur was never specified as Hawthorne was cut off as one of the other technicians looked up from his console and looked over to Captain Wolf, who'd just entered the deck.

"Sir, my console is acting up. We've just lost all satellite readings on the area," reported the technician.

Wolf's eyes narrowed as he strode over to the man and looked at the console himself. Indeed, the console was now showing static. Wolf straightened himself before looking over at the other technicians.

"Anyone else have a similar problem?"

A string of negatives answered him, which had temporarily assuaged his sudden feeling of panic, until it was revived by one other technician who suddenly changed his answer.

"Sir, Radar sensors have just gone static!"

Wolf became more grim at the announcement, but refused to sound the alarm just yet. It could, after all, just be a fluke in the system. "Anyone else?" he asked.

Again, a series of negatives answered him. And again, someone changed his answer, to Wolf's despair.

"Sir, all ground-level sensors have gone offline!"

'That's it,' thought Wolf. 'This isn't a fluke.'

"Someone's jamming our systems," he announced grimly. "Sound the general alarm!" he ordered with a yell. "Call up the general! Tell him we're under attack!"

"Aye, sir!"

"Hawthorne, get us in the air!"

"Yes, sir!"

Hearing the klaxons sounding, Wolf turned towards another technician. "Alert the regional militia! Tell them we're under attack by an unknown foe and may require assistance!"

"Sir!"

Wolf turned to another technician. "Fire up the shields! Activate all weapon systems! Get the men to their stations!"

Finally, Wolf turned to Hawthorne, who nodded before looking directly at his own overview console. "De-accelerating to attack speed, captain. Speed is now dropping to two-hundred and thirty kilometres an hour, sir."

Wolf nodded in acknowledgement before clasping his hands behind him as he stood in the centre of the room, looking out the main viewport. "Any signs of the enemy?"

"Negative, captain. However, sensors are becoming more erratic as we go."

Wolf nodded. "Very well. Pilot, divert our course fifteen degrees north. Proceed for five minutes and then re-divert course fifteen degrees northwest. Ten minutes later, proceed fifteen degrees south. That should put us behind the enemy."

Hawthorne gave a brief, "Yes, sir!" before typing in the course corrections in the computer, watching as the massive airship's viewport suddenly began to show a different scenery as the airship turned.

"Course corrections made, captain. Next course correction to occur in four minutes and forty-five seconds."

"Good. Has General Potter been alerted?" he asked the communications technician.

The man nodded briefly as he kept his eyes on his computer. "Yes, sir. Alerting the other commanders now, sir."

"Crew status?"

"Sixty percent of the crew is now at battle stations, sir. The remaining forty are on their way."

"Where the hell were they?"

"On hourly leave, sir. On Major Wolfe's orders."

Wolf grit his teeth. The man had been foolish in allowing leaves barely two hours before their arrival at the target area. Still, if the men could arrive at their stations before any actual violence exploded, all would be well.

And thus, unknowingly, Wolf invoked Murphy's law.

If anything can go wrong, it will.

Wolf cursed Murphy's memory as he felt the deck reverberate from the explosions.


	11. Chapter XI: Deadly Ambush

Neville and Susan shot up from their lying position as the klaxons sprung to life. The two looked at each other and then at the whirling red light above them, and then back at each other.

"Is that…?"

"Could it be…?"

"What time is it?"

"Less than two hours to arrival."

"It's real, then."

"Yep."

"That's bad."

"That's _really_ bad."

Without wasting another second, the two shot out of bed and donned their uniforms as quickly as they could. Neville kept repeating the same curse over and over as he got his boots on and buttoned up his new red jacket.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn…"

Susan was the first in getting ready and briefly gave Neville a kiss on the cheek before she ran towards the door. "I'll see you later, Neville!"

Neville merely grunted before finally giving a whoop of satisfaction as he finished getting ready and ran out of his room towards his designated area, the third firing corridor, near the bow of the ship. He had quite a distance to run, too, as his particular section was well over short sprinting distance. So, twenty minutes later of running at full sprint, Neville finally arrived at his station, only to feel the entire ship shake as he entered the corridor, making him lose his balance and fall onto the ground. The impact alarm sounded shortly after.

Neville quickly picked himself off the ground and turned towards his designated crew. "Report!"

"Enemy shots impacted topside, near the communications array!"

"Do we have a visual?" he asked a nearby technician, who shook his head. "Damn it! Direction of fire?"

"The lads on the other side report they saw the shots, sir!"

Neville swore once more. So there was little they could do to help in this situation, since it was the starboard side who'd been shot at. Neville felt his insides freeze, however, as he realized that Susan was on the starboard side of the ship. As he quickly tried to remember which deck she'd been assigned to, the proximity alarm blared.

"Incoming projectiles! Forty in total! Approaching quickly from our side!"

Neville broke out of his train of thought and yelled, "Target incoming projectiles! Open fire!"

The corridor suddenly came alive with sound as the massive cannons roared with each fire. Neville cheered every time one of the missiles was shot down, but a few did make it through their barrage.

As such, he wasted no time in hitting the communications button and yelling. "Inbound missiles have passed through defensive barrage! Prepare for impact!"

The klaxons only seemed to intensify more as he made this announcement and a brief look told him that his men were not abandoning their places for safety, but rather trying to load up as quickly as possible in an attempt at shooting down the missiles.

He turned to look at one of the console technicians. "Are the missiles in range for the short-range automatic batteries?" he asked.

The technician nodded after typing in a few quick keys. "Aye, sir. But their incoming attack vector is too erratic for them to do any good."

"Erratic? Damnit, man, I need clear explanations!"

"Sir, they're not coming in a straight line! They keep changing position every few seconds! Our automatics weren't programmed to deal with that sort of MO!" explained the frantic technician.

Neville blew out angry air through his lips before turning to his sensors technician. "Time to impact?"

"Thirty seconds, sir!"

"Gunnery status?"

"None ready at the moment, sir! Guns two, five, fourteen, seventeen, and twenty-five are almost ready, but not yet!"

"Relay the order to fire at will! I want as many of those missiles down as you can!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"What of the other Fire Corridors?" he then asked another crew member. The woman relayed the question over the intercom and then turned to face Neville.

"C-Seven and C-Nine report impacts, sir! Four of their guns, each, have been put out of commission! C-One reports an all-clear, while C-Five reports a similar situation to our own. No contact from C-Six or C-Two."

Neville blinked. "None? None at all?"

"None, sir."

"Inform the command deck of this. Send out a team to investigate what happened there!"

"Yes, sir!"

"What about the other decks?"

Another crew member relayed the question over the intercom and turned to face Neville. "Decks One reports no damage. Deck Three states that other than the initial volley, the enemy hasn't attempted to fire at them again."

"Good, anything else?"

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

Neville barely managed to grab onto something before he felt the entire area jerk around mightily, throwing him off balance and slamming him against the wall. He yelped in pain as his head smashed against the metallic wall but, other than suffering from total dizziness and pain, he assured his crew that he was alright. A brief check to the back of his head, however, told him that he was bleeding, though not profusely.

Swearing, Neville took out his handkerchief and pressed it against the wound, hissing as the cloth made contact with the irritated skin. Still, he had no time to worry about his wound.

"Damage report!"

"Guns four through twelve are down!" reported a crew member. "Guns twenty through twenty five are similarly damaged!"

"Fifteen guns…" whispered a nearby crew member, who'd gone pale. "In a single strike…"

"That's half of our firing capabilities!" shouted another.

"One more like that, and we're useless!"

"QUIET!" roared Neville as he slammed his open hand on the top of one of the consoles. "Defeatism is not the solution I need now, gentlemen!" he reprimanded them. "I need the wounded to be cleared out of here! If the gun can be repaired, get it repaired. If not, take its ammunition and redistribute it among the others, emphasizing on those nearest to the downed guns to make up for their loss in fire coverage."

Forced into silence by Neville's fierce shout, the crew members obliged his orders by soon running around, relaying his orders. Nodding in satisfaction that they were listening to him, Neville turned to the crew in charge of communications.

"Patch me through to the command deck."

* * *

"Fifteen guns down? Are you sure?" asked Harry.

"_Very sure, General,"_ came Neville's voice through the intercom. _"Engineers reckon maybe two or four can be saved, but even that's considered a long shot."_

Harry sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Very well. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"_Sir!"_

The intercom went static then, signaling the end of the transmission. Harry turned to Wolf.

"Any other reports?"

Wolf nodded, somewhat sadly. "Reports just came in from Lieutenant Longbottom's Search and Rescue team," he informed Harry. "Unfortunately, it seems that both decks were caught still somewhat unprepared for the incoming volley and were totally unable to repel the attacks."

Harry sighed as he lay his head in his hands while slumping forward in his chair in depression. "Just give it to me straight, Captain."

Wolf sighed. "Sir, the team estimates that in both Corridors, there has been an eighty-seven percent total loss of the crew, including commanding staff. Of the thirteen percent left alive, only three percent are expected to survive the day, if given immediate medical attention."

"Give it to them. Now."

"Yes, sir."

"How many men does that mean we've lost, specifically, in those two corridors?"

"About…four hundred and three, sir."

"Dear Lord…" whispered Harry. "Four hundred and three…in a single volley…"

Harry was, for lack of a better word, devastated. The maiden flight of his personally endorsed project, and already he'd suffered huge losses. He'd now left probably four hundred and three families without their sons or daughters. All because of his ambition.

As he sank deeper into the gloom, however, Captain Wolf rapidly recognized the symptoms and walked in front of Harry's chair and, grabbing his superior officer by the shoulders, slammed him against the back of his chair.

"Don't you dare, sir!" he shouted, catching the attention of everyone on deck—most of them surprised or horrified that anyone would talk to the commanding officer in such a way.

Harry's eyes looked confused as he looked at Wolf, who bared his teeth and growled.

"Don't you dare retreat into a shell at a time like this!" repeated the older man. "Sure, we've lost good men and women, but that's the cost of war! You said it yourself in your thesis! I know you did—I read it!" he asserted to Harry, who looked somewhat shocked.

"You have to pull yourself together, sir! Yes, there are four hundred and three dead men and women on board right now, but there are over seven thousand more still alive who'd _really_ like to be able to go home after this thrice-be damned mission!"

That seemed to provoke some reaction from Harry, who seemed to regain some of his determination. Still, Wolf saw it was going to need a bit more, which he'd expected, which was why he'd kept the intercom activated during his scolding.

The sudden cheering from the speakers around the command room seemed to spark some life into Harry, who looked around in confusion.

"_General, this is Corridor Six, Deck One! We're behind you, General!"_

"_Sir, Corridor One, Deck Two is ready for duty! Tell us where to aim, sir!"_

"_Harry, this is Susan in Corridor Five, Deck Three! Don't you dare let us down now, Harry!"_

"_Ernie here. Corridor Three, Deck Two is ready to kick some Dark Wizard arse!"_

"_This is Neville speaking. Corridor Ten, Deck Two is at your orders, General."_

"_Corridor Nine, Deck One is standing by for orders, General. Just give us the word and no missile will ever hit us again."_

Then, Sharpe's voice crackled over the speakers. _"General, I know you and I didn't always get along in the Academy, but if anyone can get us out of this mess, I know it's you. Don't let us down, sir. I'm sure your wife would love to see you again after this mess is over. That being said, Corridor Ten, Deck Three is ready for duty."_

Harry stood from his chair, his face alit with wonder as he looked around as the many other corridors reported in to show their support. With a sigh, he shut his eyes momentarily and, taking a deep breath, said clearly,

"Thank you, lads. I'll do my best."

The cheers exploded again throughout the intercom, and Wolf smiled before shutting it off. Still, the captain was worried when Harry didn't move or open his eyes for another minute.

"Sir…?" he asked tentatively.

Wolf jumped back when Harry suddenly snapped his eyes open, his Killing Curse green eyes alit with a coldness that made the normally implacable Wolf shiver.

"Prepare for counterattack," was all Harry said.

* * *

"Report on shields," commanded Harry. "Why did they not stop the incoming projectiles?"

"Sir, the projectiles weren't detected by the shields. It's as if they'd never been there at all."

"Or as if someone knew our shielding system inside out and told the enemy," muttered Harry before turning to the intercom and pressing the switch that would connect him to the Engineering sector nearest to the shield generators. "This is General Potter."

"_Sir!"_

"I want you and your men to check our generators and its output protocols. See if any tampering has occurred that would allow it to recognize the projectiles as organic."

"_Yes, sir! We should have the report ready in a few minutes!"_

"Good. General Potter, out."

As Harry turned to look out the view port, Wolf looked at Harry curiously. "Organic, sir?"

Harry nodded. "A side-effect of our shields, Captain, is that it can only block out metallic objects of a particular size. Normal, regulation rifle and pistol bullets would not be stopped, which is redundant anyway, as our plating would stop everything without a dent, but it will stop anything the size of a rocket or larger."

Wolf nodded. "So that would mean that our shields _should_ have stopped the missiles."

"Indeed, captain. They should have never even made it to SRAB distance."

"Which means that either we've been tricked into believing these shields work…"

"…Or someone's tampered with them. The latter choice being the most credible at this moment, as I doubt Professor Eisenheim would ever collaborate with his wife's murderers."

"Point taken, sir."

"What's the status on our attackers? Any visual? Any reading?"

A technician nearby shook his head. "None, sir. We've managed to extrapolate their location, however, based on projectile trajectory…or rather, whatever we could actively trace."

Harry nodded as he was handed a sheet with the estimated locations circled in red on the map. "Hmm…"

Wolf watched as Harry's eyes narrowed at the map and could see how his eyes reflected the intense degree of thinking going on in the younger man's head. It was like watching a TV show in fast forward time four. They were flashing with bouts of insight and denial and doubt and certainty.

He was so concentrated in watching his superior, in fact, that when Harry spoke, he jumped in surprise.

"Any incoming projectiles?" asked the raven-haired wizard softly.

Wolf asked the same question to a nearby technician, who responded negatively. "None, sir," he relayed.

Harry nodded before clasping his hands behind his back. "Bring up a holographic map of the area."

A crew member quickly complied and Harry was rewarded with a floating, three-dimensional image of the area, with the _HMAS Retaliation_ distinctly floating above ground and moving, the terrain underneath moving as well to accommodate its detected terrain.

Harry watched silently as the holographic airship moved, locating, in his mind's eye, where the attackers (for he was certain there were at least two) had been, and where they _would_ be.

"What's the key…?" he mused softly as he tried to see what was so special of their initial ambush location.

He couldn't remember anything specific about the area. There weren't many trees around, that was for sure, so AA sites were ruled out. Mountains? No. None of consequence. Bodies of water? Sure, a stream here or there…and maybe a small pond, but nothing that would hide something that could launch such a devastating attack.

Harry looked out the viewport, trying to find some inspiration. What had been the deciding factor for them to use that area?

"Sir?" cut in a female voice. Harry turned to the female technician, a Jillian King, if he guessed correctly.

"Yes?"

"Pilot Hawthorne wishes to let you know that we're entering another high-density cloud sector."

Harry nodded vaguely before returning to the map, trying to think hard on what could have made such a place an ideal ambush spot. They'd been at 10.5 kilometres above ground, which, in and of itself, should have ruled out any conventional Dark Wizard weapon he'd ever heard of. Which left the unthinkable—that Muggles were firing on him.

After all, what other explanation could there be?

Harry's eyes snapped suddenly to his holographic map, where he froze the image. He looked at their position and noted the high-density clouds they were going through. He then had the map show the ambush site once more.

Wolf noticed his superior's sudden mood shift and asked, "Sir?"

Harry ignored the query and turned to Jillian. "Lieutenant, you said we'd been going through high-density clouds _again_?"

Jillian nodded nervously, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as Harry's Killing Curse green eyes looked at her sharply.

"When was the last time we passed through such a cloud system?" he demanded.

"Just before the attack, sir," answered Hawthorne instead from his place at the steering controls. "I reported it."

"How shortly before the attack?"

"A few seconds, sir. Why?"

Wolf's eyes suddenly widened as he made the connection. His eyes found Harry's, who nodded grimly. Immediately springing into action, Wolf ordered, "Hawthorne, lose us some altitude! Lieutenant King, get in touch with Engineering! Find out what's taking so long with that damn report! Sensors! Give me an update on our sensor blackout!"

Harry nodded in approval at Wolf's orders and went to the intercom and pressed the general intercom switch.

"This is General Potter to all available crew. We have determined that we have just walked into another ambush. Every gun available, load your weapons and standby to shoot down any incoming projectiles! The shields are not reading the missiles, gentlemen! I repeat, the shields will not save you!"

Harry's message having gotten through, he now turned to Wolf, who was reading a technical report. "Well?"

Wolf's gaze flickered briefly to Harry. "Your guess was correct, sir. Someone tampered with the shielding protocol."

"How bad?"

"Not as bad as we feared, General. Whoever did this was an amateur. Rather than making our shields permeable to _any_ projectile, they specified it down to a single type of projectile," explained Wolf as he passed the sheet, pointing out the missile in question.

"An APMM Missile?" asked Harry with a confused look. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Wolf shrugged. "Me neither, sir."

Harry was about to ask another question when the intercom flared back to life. _"Sir! This is Engineer Riddick reporting from Corridor Six, Deck Two! We've just managed to recover what seems to be a missile that failed to detonate! The lads have managed to defuse it, sir!"_

Harry's eyes snapped to the intercom. "What can you tell me, Engineer Riddick?"

A pause. _"Well, sir, it's cylindrical in shape, with a conical head. Six fins attached to the head, sir, with movable directional flaps incorporated to it. That's how they kept our SRAB guns guessing, we're thinking."_

Harry nodded. "Sound reasoning, Mr. Riddick. What else?"

"_The head is an impact warhead, sir. The reason this one failed, we're guessing, is that the detonator must be faulty. It's redundant at this point, sir, since we've disarmed it."_

"What of the warhead's core? What is it made of?" asked Wolf, interjecting himself into the conversation.

"_Still working on that one, captain...wait, I think we've got it…"_ Both Harry and Wolf heard some discussion before a new voice joined in. _"Sir, this is Engineer Michaels. We've managed to recover the core. Now, I'm no expert, sir, but this seems to be the same design as the ones we use for our artillery shells."_

Harry felt his insides chill. "What do you mean, Mr. Michaels?"

"_It's a Magical Artillery Shell Core, sir."_

* * *

_ From: "Weapons of the Empire" by Chris McFarlane_

_Excerpt from Chapter 4, "Development History"_

_"...after a long period of retooling and redesigning, a working model of the Magical Artillery Shell Core was finally completed by the Roberts family on..._

_...Long kept a strict Imperial secret, was later leaked by the known traitor..._

_...rumoured to have been used against the Empire at the Battle of the Retaliation..._

_...no official sources confirm this, however..."  
_

* * *

_AN: Sorry for the delay folks. I don't usually do this, you must understand, but the last few weeks have been hectic as all hell. First off, I got to Canada without a place to stay, then spent a week in a hotel trying to find a suitable home, ended up finding a place which I now share with a University friend of mine, had to argue with Customs, get my Student Permit belatedly, and several other fun things that have made me unable to focus on the story. And the best part of it? I have a test tomorrow and we're -still- not fully moved in yet! Yay! _

_In any case, till next time! Enjoy!_


	12. Chapter XII: Nightmares of Times Past

_AN: FINALLY! The moment some of you may have been waiting for! The explanation for Harry's total Tarkinesque personality!_

* * *

  
Wolf felt Harry freeze at the announcement, though he wasn't better off himself, seeing as how the announcement had shocked him to the core.

"A…_Magical_ Artillery Shell Core?" repeated Wolf, shocked.

"_Aye, sir."_

"You're sure?"

"_Positive now, sir. We just tried to detonate it. It was filled with Reductor solution."_

"Thank you, Mr. Michaels," replied Wolf shortly before killing the feed. He then whirled to Harry, who looked shocked. "Sir, you do know what this means, correct?"

Harry nodded grimly. "Someone's been giving the Dark Wizards our weaponry."

"Or perhaps someone is selling it on the side…?" suggested Wolf, making Harry snap his eyes towards the captain.

"Are you suggesting what I think you are, Captain? Because if you are, that's dangerously close to insubordination."

"Well, how else do you explain it, sir?" demanded Wolf. "The Roberts and Potters have always had the monopoly on the creation of Magical Cores!"

Outraged shouts sprung up around the deck as the accusation was indirectly made. Harry, for his part, however, levelled a steely look at Wolf.

"Neither my family, nor any of our vassals, are traitors, Captain Wolf," declared Harry. "And, in answer to your question, I was informed, prior to our leaving, that there was a traitor in the midst of the military. Someone," he continued harshly, seeing Wolf about to comment, "that is of a higher rank than myself, I'm assuming."

Wolf still seemed disbelieving. "And why is that?"

Harry glared at his somewhat insubordinate officer. "Because who else would have been able to tell the enemy where we were going? Who else would have known about our shielding capabilities? I myself hadn't heard of their full protocols until yesterday."

'Now I know why the whole mission seemed illogical,' thought Harry grimly. 'Someone must have manipulated many of the higher-ups to give us this assignment.'

Harry quickly drove those thoughts out of his mind, however. He would worry about the identity of the traitor later. For now, he had a crisis to fix.

"Nonetheless, Captain, we must now put our suspicions aside and look to our men. This ship has been ambushed once already and, if I'm not mistaken, we're about to be attacked soon enough again."

Wolf nodded reluctantly before adopting a confused look. "Which reminds me…they attacked us seconds after we entered the clouds last time. Why the devil are they taking so long this time?"

"Lull us into a false sense of security, I reckon," mused Harry aloud as he watched the holographic display. The ship was still descending underneath the clouds. Gradually, though, Harry began to smile as he replayed the entire ambush scene—before _and_ after as well. "Oh, this guy is _good_."

"Sir?" came the confused question from Wolf.

Turning on his heel with his arm outstretched, Harry addressed Hawthorne. "Mr. Hawthorne, go on manual control and bring us back into the clouds."

"Sir?" repeated Wolf as Hawthorne did as he was ordered.

Harry turned to the grim captain with a cool smile. "Didn't it strike you as odd, Captain, that despite your corrections to our course, the enemy was _still_ able to find us, with exact accuracy within a dense bank of clouds?"

"Well, perhaps an informant…"

Harry cut him off. "No, captain. Any informant on this ship that would be able to give them such exact coordinate changes would have to do so from this deck, and I'm _rather_ sure that you would have seen that."

"…True…" admitted Wolf somewhat slowly.

"So what answer does that leave us, Captain?" asked Harry as he clasped his hands behind his back and watched the clouds racing down to cover the viewports once more.

"I'm…not sure, sir."

"A transmitter, Captain," explained Harry. "One hidden in our automatic pilot, no doubt. They've known where we were since we left Ireland."

Wolf gaped. "But…that's _impossible_…these men…they're Dark Wizards! They're inbred aristocratic racists who know nothing of our technology! How could they _possibly_ know how to use one, let alone what one _is_?"

Harry chuckled despite the grim situation. "And that's why we never looked." Seeing the captain's confused look, Harry elaborated. "We've always assumed that our enemy are technologically depraved and ignorant murderers, right?" A nod. "Well, by doing so, we've overlooked the idea that perhaps one or more of them have been assigned to learn more about the Muggle world, or perhaps recruit traitors from within our midst."

Wolf looked flabbergasted. "We totally underestimated them."

Harry nodded. He then turned to a nearby technician. "Have a team of engineers come up and look over the automatic pilot circuitry. I want that transmitter found _now_."

The man eeped before throwing a salute and running over to the emergency intercom. In the meantime, Harry turned his attention back to Hawthorne.

"Mister Hawthorne, during a period of exactly five minutes, I want you to activate the automatic pilot with the patch of clear skies over that mountain range as a destination. As soon as those five minutes are up, I want you to switch to manual and then go reverse and above the clouds."

Hawthorne gave a brief acknowledgement before setting out to carry out his orders. Meanwhile, Wolf turned to Harry inquisitively.

"What's the plan, General?"

Harry smiled thinly. "The plan, Captain, is to reverse the trap on our stalkers. With any luck, we should be able to lure the enemy into that patch of clear skies so we know who we're fighting, while maintaining the advantage of surprise and larger field of fire."

Wolf nodded grimly. "Aye, aye, sir. Any orders for our boys on the lower batteries?"

Harry nodded. He pointed at the map, signalling their expected position. "Once we've reached that position, Captain, I want total battery silence. Not a single gun is to open fire. Let's let our enemy first get completely into the open before we do anything, and we'll hopefully manage to maximize our damage."

Wolf nodded once more before relaying the orders to the dispatch technician.

Harry turned to the hologram again, watching the ship go about its orders. He absently noted the engineering team rush into the room and start dismantling the back of one of Hawthorne's computers just as the pilot disengaged the autopilot.

Harry quietly watched the ship slow down before Hawthorne engaged the reverse thrusters to turn the ship in an upward spiral.

'Finally,' he thought. 'Now, to hunt the hunter.'

_XxXxXx Flashback XxXxXx_

_Harry panted as he and two dozen more men raced through thick foliage, running away from sounds of explosions, screams, and bodies being torn apart._

_To his left, redcoats were whimpering as they tried to jump over fallen logs and lashed out at hanging branches in order to keep their sights clear._

_To his right, he briefly saw a man trip and fall before quickly being pulled up by two companions and dragged into a running start. Even as they ran, they still felt the pull of camaraderie._

_All the group knew is that they had to get away._

_Fast._

_They didn't know where they were going, nor did they really care. All that mattered was that they survived the horror. The horror that was happening not a mile away. The horror that was slowly closing in on them._

_Harry winced as a swept away branch lashed out at his cheek and cut the skin. Nevertheless, he merely kept running, his Wellington boots splashing against the mud as he dived under thick branches and jumped over logs. _

_They had to get away. They had to._

_Up ahead, a shout._

_Harry briefly panics as he immediately thinks that the enemy has surrounded them, with all hopes of retreat being lost. His pale, shaking hands lunge for his pistol and wand as he becomes determined not to be taken alive._

_And yet, still he keeps running._

_He abruptly hears a growl coming from near his back and quickly spins around. A mistake, he decided seconds later._

_He throws himself on his back into the muddy ground as a shadowy figure lunges at him, making it fly over him. Harry quickly got back on his feet, the back of his red uniform now covered in mud, as well as his hair, but he barely pays any attention to it._

_His sole concern stood in front of him._

_A creature—no, a demon from the depths of this hell. _

_Pitch black in colour, the creature walked on all fours, with jagged protrusions erupting from its back, giving it a horrifying look. It had no snout, but for two slits underneath its pitch black eyes. As it snarled at him, Harry could see its jagged, fang-like teeth with blots of red blood covering them._

_Slowly, Harry could feel the panic rise in him. He didn't want to die. Not here. Not now. He'd only just begun to sort out his feelings for his good friend at Hogwarts. He was only 15._

_No, he didn't want to die._

"…_don't want to die," he mumbled aloud, much to the amusement of his foe, who began giving an eerie sounding cackle. It sounded somewhat akin to a screech, making Harry wince unwillingly._

_With a furious cry, the thing lunged at Harry again, again missing as the raven-haired officer threw himself out of the way. Rolling back onto his feet, Harry leveled his wand at the creature and fired several spells silently in quick succession, as they'd taught him at the Academy. They were low in power due to the speed of casting, he realized, but in the face of a vastly superior foe, he really had no choice other than to keep it as far away as he humanly could while he figured out a way to run for it._

_The creature snarled at him as they circled each other. Harry, in a brief moment of courage—or was it lunacy?—returned the snarl with a comment of his own._

"_Come on, scum! Come and get me!"_

_Somewhat taken aback by the young officer's taunt, the creature snarled fiercely before giving off another of its screech-like laugh._

"_You…" the creature hissed—something that scared Harry more than its already warped figure. "Will die, wizard. All of you…Mudbloods and wizards alike….you will all die…"_

_Harry, in yet another moment of foolishness, scoffed openly at the assertion. "More will come."_

_Another eerie laugh. "You…and your kind…all arrogant pieces of meat…" hissed the creature as it gave a dramatic whiff. "Smells so…deliciousssss, though…."_

_Harry almost gagged at the idea of him and his men being meals. What the creature said next, however, made his eyes snap back onto the creature's head._

"_Much like…those silly wizardssss…who let us out….yesss…."_

_Harry goggled at the creature. "You __ate__ your allies?"_

_Another eerie laugh. "Allies? Allies? No human is ever an ally of the Venati! Only ever appetizers!"_

_Harry felt sick, yet he couldn't help but feel some curiosity. "Venati?"_

_Harry saw the creature pause for a moment before a jagged-tooth grin lit up the creature's face._

"_Clever human…trying…to buy yourself…some…time…" mused the creature._

_Harry felt panic shoot up his spine. It was true he'd been trying to delay the creature while he thought up of something. As of yet, however, he'd thought up of nothing and every second he delayed, he could hear the ruffling of approaching Venati, as he now knew them._

_The Venati in front of him gave another toothy grin. "Yessss…your hear them….my kinsmen…approach…"_

_Harry turned desperate eyes to the creature. "Please…I don't want to die here…"_

_The Venati gave another laugh, this one louder than previous ones. "All things die, little human." It hissed. "The question issss…how…will you…face your…death?"_

_Harry, in a fit of desperation, gave a cry as he fired off another stream of spells towards the Venati, who howled before lunging out of the way of each spell and heading straight for him. Harry fired off a shot with his pistol, which hit the creature in the side, making it howl as a chunk of its side was blown apart, before dropping his pistol and drawing his sword. _

_The Venati, meanwhile, had dropped onto all fours, whimpering and growling at the sizeable wound in its side, from which black blood was flowing out. It snarled at Harry briefly before lunging at him._

_Just as the Venati was about to bit down on his head, Harry managed to interpose his sword in the way, forcing it to bite down on the blade instead. Locked into its teeth, the Venati snarled at Harry, who snarled right back as he tried to push it off him._

_Finally, the sword got loose and Harry kicked it away, making it whine as he did. The Venati growled before giving another cry and lunging at him again, making Harry dive out of the way._

_The two fighters circled each other, as hunter and prey would (with both considering themselves the hunter in this case) before lunging at each other once more. This time, Harry caught the Venati in a deadlock as his sword was stopped by the creature's crossed arms. Barely even digging into its skin, Harry snarled at the Venati, forgetting his earlier panic and cowardice and simply letting himself become one with the combat._

_Harry kicked out again at the creature, but this time, it was ready for it. Twisting its body out of the way, the Venati snarled at Harry as it prepared to lunge again. Just as quickly, though, Harry brought up his wand and fired off a single spell._

"_REDUCTO!"_

_The coloured beam raced from the tip of his wand towards the Venati quicker than it could dodge. The creature howled as the spell hit it at the same place the bullet had. This time, however, the beam blew the creature in two. Harry gave a sigh of relief as its eyes widened in surprise momentarily before the hunting gleam in them faded away._

_Harry gasped for breath as he dropped to his knees, mentally and physically exhausted after having run for well over an hour and then fought the Venati in one-to-one combat. His sense came alert once more, however, as he heard a rustling sound coming from his left, causing him to bring up his wand in that direction._

_A curse was ready on his lips as he prepared to fire upon his new enemy when he saw five men in red coats walk out, rifles at the ready. The lead seemed relieved to see Harry and motioned to his men to go help him. Harry, meanwhile, gave a sigh of relief as he dropped his arm._

_The lead man walked up to Harry and knelt by him. "You alright, sir?" he asked in a thick brogue. Harry nodded silently, still breathing deeply._

_Behind him, Harry could hear one of the men whistling appreciatively. "You sure messed this bugger up, sir!" called the man. Harry briefly heard the sound of a boot hitting flesh, indicating that the soldier had kicked the Venati's corpse._

"_It's what the Darks have been releasing on our garrison. It's why we've nearly lost this colony," explained Harry. "Flesh-eaters. Sentient, too."_

_The lead scout grimaced. "Great. Just what we needed—eh, sir? __Another__ smart enemy."_

_Harry couldn't help it—he chuckled. "Aye. Just what we needed." Harry wiped his forehead with his sleeve before looking up at the scout. "What's our situation?"_

_The scout seemed a bit happier then. "Seems that after our disastrous defeat, the lads were able to find an abandoned bunker, about two miles from here. We've just finished fighting off these damn critters," he pointed at the dead Venati. "Master Sergeant Fredrickson ordered scouting parties to look for survivors."_

_Harry nodded before gratefully accepting the man's gourd and taking a gulp. He wiped his wet mouth with his sleeve before nodding. "Fredrickson is the highest officer?"_

_The scout nodded grimly. "Aye. Captain Matthews was for a while, but he died from his wounds shortly before these thrice-be-damned creatures showed up," he reported, jerking his thumb in the corpse's direction._

_Harry goggled at the scout. "Matthews is dead?" A nod. "What about Lieutenant Kilrain? Lieutenant-Colonel Miles? Or Colonel Ames? Heck, what about Majors Daniels and Weber?"_

_The scout shook his head. "We've checked with the lads. Lieutenant Kilrain was killed at the battle, as was Miles. The colonel was last seen being mobbed by those foul creatures. As for Majors Daniels and Weber…well…we found two places on our searches that indicated they were killed."_

"_What indications?" asked Harry. He couldn't possibly be the last officer around._

"_Large pools of blood, sir."_

"_Could've been anyone, soldier."_

"_No, sir. We're pretty sure it was them."_

"_How come?"_

"_We found their university rings, sir," commented another of the scouts, who was hiding behind a fallen log and looking around for enemies._

"_Could've fallen off from the sweat."_

"_Sir, that may be. But when the rings are attached to gnawed off, decaying fingers, I'm rather sure the owners aren't very well off," countered the scout._

_Harry grimaced at the blunt imagery but acknowledged the point. He was about to ask another question to the lead scout when the man behind him caught their attention._

"_Is that supposed to be doing that?" asked the man as he jerked his rifle in the direction of one of the Venati's spinal protrusions, which was twitching._

_Harry was about to turn around and see what the man was talking about when the frontal piece of the Venati suddenly sprung to life and clawed fiercely at Harry's back, leaving a single, harsh wound going from his left shoulder to the bottommost right rib._

_Harry screamed in pain as he fell, barely hearing the scout shout as they fired bullet after bullet into the supposedly dead corpse, making it twitch around as it was thrown around by the bullet impacts. Once their shots were fired, the men proceeded to stab at the corpse with their bayonets until they were sure it was finally dead. The lead scout then turned to the fallen Harry and called for his men to carry their fallen superior._

"_Move it, men! Could be more around here! Jenkins, you take point! Lee, you're rearguard! Make sure none of those buggers creep up on us!"_

_Harry groaned in pain as his arms were placed around two other soldiers' necks and dragged off, with the lead scout providing cover._

_However, as the group made its way to the bunker, Harry began to hear, in his mind, some very disturbing words._

_Words that didn't come from his own thoughts._

_Words that were said in a very familiar, very eerie hiss._

_**Yesss…run little long assss…a single Dark Wizard existsss…we will return…**_

_Harry simply screamed as the words sunk in, though his fellow soldiers chalked it up to the pain._

_XxXxXx __End Flashback __XxXxXx_

Harry shivered unconsciously as the memories of that awful place returned. It was so similar to that, in a way. Those words he'd heard that day had haunted him ever since.

_**We will return…**_

Harry shivered once more. He couldn't allow that to happen. The Venati were a scourge that only through the loss of thousands of soldiers and thousands more of civilians were finally stopped, and that had been a _minimal_ amount.

The Venati, he'd found later, were a myth of Roman legend in Magical folklore. Creatures of darkness, allegedly created by the Lord of Hell himself. Creatures that could only be summoned by dark wizards, but over whom control was this side of impossible.

'Not so much a legend, though,' mused Harry as he looked at the hologram.

Still, the words stuck, and so Harry resolved never to let it come true. He would _die_ before he let a Dark Wizard walk away unscathed. The Venati would _not_ come back.

"Movement within the clouds beneath us!"

The shout broke Harry out of his daydreaming and made his focus sharpen again on the hologram. He watched as the clouds seemed to expand outwardly for a moment before…_something_ pierced the cover and started to emerge from the clouds.

"What the bloody hell is _that_?" someone cried.

Harry felt his eyes widen enormously as he watched, jaw unhinged, as four huge structures emerged from the clouds.

"Sir?" asked Wolf somewhat nervously as he looked at the same hologram.

"Unless I miss my guess, Captain," noted Harry once he managed to regain his faculty of speech. "Those are…_airships_."

Harry watched disbelievingly as the four airships came into view. How in the blazes were the Death Eaters, or any other Dark Wizard group if it was someone else, able to build airships? More to the point, _four_ of them? In less time than _he_ was able to?

"This is impossible," he muttered as he watched the airships get into position in his trap.

Wolf, for once, didn't seem to suspect Harry or Harry's family and friends of treason. He knew, for a fact, that Harry _loved_ this project, and had demanded absolute secrecy on it. To see it so…twisted was probably breaking the man in front of him.

"Sir, the targets are now in position," he reported. Harry paid no attention.

"…impossible…" he muttered again.

"Sir?" Wolf insisted. "Sir, you need to make a decision. The targets are in position for our trap."

Still no answer from his superior. Sighing, Wolf looked at the hologram and, finding himself unable to solve the problem in his mind, turned to Harry and, breaching various rules of protocol, shook the younger man hard.

"Sir! We need you to focus!" he yelled at Harry. "We're outgunned and outnumbered! What do we _do?_"

Harry finally seemed to snap out of it. He blinked up at Wolf before shaking his head and putting up a hand to it as it began to hurt slightly. As he did, however, he heard something that made him freeze.

_**We will return…**_

Harry felt the terror shoot up from his stomach as he remembered that vow, long given.

'No,' he thought, the memories of the Venati circling him, smelling him, snapping their horrible jaws at him, still clinging to his mind. 'I can't let that happen! Not now…Not _ever!_ Never again!'

Harry felt his mind stop at that. To the outside viewer, it seemed as if Harry had suddenly gotten a stroke with how wide his eyes had shot previously, filled with terror. Now, however, he'd gone limp.

"Sir?" asked Wolf as he tried to lightly shake him. No response. Wolf started to panic. "Sir?!" Not getting any response, the captain turned to the nearest crew member. "Call the medics! The general's not responding!"

Panic set into the room as the crew began to shout and run around, trying to contact the nearest medic in the ship. Many were even shouting how all was lost, now that their beloved commander had fallen. Many others were saying how the general would pull through.

None, however, expressed any desire to deal with the situation beneath them.

In the midst of that chaos, however, something happened in Harry's mind.

Much like what happened in India following his encounter with the Venati, as well as in Serpent Fortress, and Diagon Alley, something snapped in him. Fear, panic, terror, hate, and logic all melded into a single, conglomerated mindset. Like at each of his locations of service, he felt himself starting up again as his cruel, cold side began to take over. Previously, he'd been able to call upon such a mindset in a limited capacity.

But now…

Facing the ultimate odds, and the possibility of the Venati's return…

Harry's eyes snapped open.

* * *

_From: "Hero of the Empire - The Official Biography of Air Field Marshall Harry James Potter," by Colonel James Winters_

_Excerpt from Chapter 2, "Pre-War Service"_

_"...Although not much emphasis is given to this time period, many periodicals have had the late Marshall state that this was the period that most defined him..._

_...claimed that more than any other battle in the Dark Wars, the Massacre of Marrimalla, named so due to the proximity of the town and its eventual destruction in the course of the battle, changed him in such a way that, while it could be described as cruel, he also maintained was necessary in such a war..._

_...debate still rages on whether or not the circumstances justified Marshall Potter's actions, or whether the personality change merely made him more at fault..."_


	13. Chapter XIII: Counterstrike

Captain Wolf was a career officer in the Royal Navy. All his adult life had been devoted to the Royal Armed Service, and when, at the age of 22 he'd been transferred to the Imperial Service, he'd thought the opportunities to have multiplied. In that time, however, he'd seen almost every sort of horror this new world offered. He'd seen fellow soldiers killed by spell fire of every type. He'd watched giants stomp on live men and Dementors apply the Kiss to his friends.

Never, in his life, however, had he seen the absolute darkness that lay within his superior's eyes as they snapped open.

The very sight of Harry's eyes made Wolf flinch and back away suddenly, releasing the general. It was as if the very abyss was in Harry's eyes.

"Captain," came the soft, yet chilling voice of Harry as he regarded the sight before him.

Despite himself, the captain felt himself stutter as he replied, "Y-Yes, sir?"

Harry pointed at a specific point on the enemy ships' holographic projections. "Have every battery available aim at these specific points on the enemy airships on my mark," he ordered calmly.

Wolf squinted at the projection but couldn't make out the significance of the targets. "What are they aiming at, sir?" he asked, confused.

The temperature in the room fell sharply as Harry asked icily, "Are you doubting my orders, captain?"

While Wolf had previously been able to stand up to Harry, this new personality of his terrified him to the very core. He therefore shook his head quickly and typed in the target coordinates in the computer, relaying them to each firing corridor.

Harry nodded approvingly as he watched, with an icy disposition, as Wolf finished relaying his orders. "Good. Now, I want the starboard batteries to hit these locations," he pointed to several antennae on the ships, "after having fired their initial round. Have the port side batteries, however, hold their fire after the initial burst."

Wolf nodded somewhat shakily and signalled for a random technician to relay the orders.

Harry nodded, pleased. "Good. After the starboard batteries have finished firing, I want the _Retaliation_ to be brought up close to the closest ship left floating. Have us close in so that our port side batteries can get a clear shot at their starboard hull."

"Yes, sir."

"After we release the full power of our port side, I want this airship to engage the fourth ship as per standard disabling practice. I'm sure that, while larger, their ships are proportionately less stable than ours and their systems should be brought down easier. Then, have troop transports ready to board."

Wolf nodded silently at this. Harry gave him a cold, searching look before turning to a passing technician. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty, sir."

Harry nodded. "Very well. Captain, relay to all appropriate fire corridors: open fire."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Neville briefly heard a beeping noise from behind him as he ordered his men to adjust their targets. The square-jawed Imperial officer turned to see a technician say something in his headset before glancing up at Neville and giving him a thumbs up.

Neville needed no telling twice. He immediately turned to his men and roared, "FIRE!"

Quickly covering his ears, Neville watched as every cannon in his corridor suddenly jolted back as the massive projectiles within them spat out of the circular metallic tubes, fire and unexploded gunpowder in its wake.

* * *

Harry observed with satisfaction as the projectiles raced down the sky and eventually found their targets.

As he'd predicted, the ships he was facing were quickly and shoddily built. While air-worthy, they had been practically thrown together in a desperate effort to out-gun the Empire.

They'd failed to take into account Harry, however.

Thus, the young Potter heir watched with satisfaction as his cannons hit the enemy's large, frightfully exposed jamming antennae.

"Our sensors are back up again!" shouted a technician. All around him, Harry heard several similar calls.

Giving Wolf a superior smirk, Harry turned his attention to Hawthorne. "Mr. Hawthorne, accelerate to attack speed and bring us down to their level," he ordered.

"Aye, sir!"

Harry now turned to the communications officer once more. "Issue the order to the starboard batteries. I want every available cannon to fire on their pre-designated location!"

"Aye, sir!"

Harry now turned to Wolf and extended an inviting hand towards the older man. "Come, captain, and let us watch how history is made."

* * *

The battle was terrifying in its beauty.

Gleaming from the newly risen sun's rays, the dagger-nosed _Retaliation_ roared down the skies, slicing through its cloud cover, and flew right into the enemy's back.

Amidst cries of "FIRE!" and "Give it to 'em, boys!", the British Assault Ship let loose thousands of projectiles against the enemy airships.

First, as per Harry's orders, the ship furthest on the starboard side was hit hard on its starboard side, causing it to suddenly lose power on that side's turbines. This caused the ship to tilt right as the portside turbine kept going.

From the command bridge, Harry and his crew watched as the targeted ship rammed right into its ally. The two ships had numerous explosions go off along their hulls, before finally going down in flames into the mountains.

Inside the fire corridors, where the event was being transmitted by live feed, cheering erupted as they scored their first two kills.

Amidst the cheering on his bridge, Harry smiled coldly as he watched the two ships go down. He then swept out an arm and ordered, "All ahead full! Get us up close to that third ship! Fire on my command!" he barked.

Shouts of "Aye, sir!" erupted as orders were relayed and carried out.

The _Retaliation_ moved rapidly as Hawthorne had the engine power increased. The enemy, however, had finally recovered and Harry could see several small objects dive from underneath the ship.

"Dragons incoming! Activate the SRA batteries!" he ordered.

"Aye, sir! Activating SRA batteries!"

"Fire up the shields! Prepare to receive incoming fire!"

"Shields up!"

Just in time, too, Harry noted, as the sky before them lit up as the enemy's weapons hit the magically-created shield. Both ships were now firing everything they had at Harry's ship, and Harry could see masses of dragons coming up at them. Harry frowned.

'How in the world did they acquire so many dragons?' he thought. 'Even Charlie had trouble finding candidates for the _Retaliation_…how did they get so many?'

Despite the chilling thought, Harry kept his mind on the enemy ships. He could see the dragons scoring several hits on his ship's hull, as did their respective riders.

"Status!" he barked.

"Mostly glancing shots, sir! Two or three serious ones, though."

"How serious?"

"Fires have broken out on the upper deck in the same vicinity where some of the shots melted through the metal."

"A team has been dispatched to contain the fires and hull breach."

Harry nodded. "Get the fires cleared up and report any casualties quickly."

"Aye, sir!"

Harry now pointed at the ships ahead. "I want full upper-deck battery fire on the ship on the right. Tell them to pierce those shields and aim straight for the spiral structure at the front of the ship."

"Aye, sir!"

Harry now turned to Wolf. "Call the hangars. Tell the pilots to get ready to fly on my command."

Wolf saluted quickly as he turned to relay the orders.

Harry now turned to the shield technician. "On my command, drop the shields."

Nearly everyone froze at that and turned to look at Harry.

"Excuse me, sir?" asked a shocked Wolf.

Harry glared at his captain but decided to explain, this time around. "Despite being engineered in such a way that they would allow our rounds to go through them unhindered, captain, our shields nonetheless reduce the overall potency of our rounds' power due to its heavy magical field. By dropping them, we can allow our shots to be delivered at full power, and allow our fighters to scramble just as we provide a suitable distraction."

"Distrac—?"

"The third ship, captain. We're blowing it up."

* * *

And blow it up they did.

The deactivation of the _Retaliation_'s shields took the enemy completely by surprise, so not a single shot was fired on their end as the massive ship turned to expose its starboard side. They even kept their guns quiet as the entire starboard battery complement opened fire in one spectacular broadside that, now being night, completely lit up the sky.

The enormous amount of firepower poured into the attack completely overloaded the enemy's shields, causing them to fall after the first hundred rounds. The subsequent four hundred, however, completely tore apart the third ship.

And, in the confusion, Harry's fighters all scrambled to join in on the (now) slaughter that was occurring outside.

Determined to show up the ship's Navy and Army crew, the pilots who'd been recruited from the Air Service quickly put their minds to hunting down dragons, and did so with gusto.

From his position at the command deck, Harry watched with an eerie smile as the Dark fleet was crushed. He then turned to Wolf, who was supervising the raising of the shields.

"Are the transports ready?" asked Harry. Wolf turned to nod.

"They are, sir."

"Good. Have my personal transport ready as well. I will be joining the attack."

"Is that wise, sir?"

"Wiser than questioning my orders, captain."

"Yes, sir."

Harry gave a quick nod before turning on his heel and marching over to the lift. Before he reached it, however, he turned and nodded to Wolf. "You have the deck, mister Wolf," he announced. With that, the young general got into the tube-like lift and was soon away towards the hangar.

Wolf, for his part, sighed and shrugged to himself before turning to his crew. "Alright, people, order the disabling shots."

"Aye, aye, captain!"


	14. Chapter XIV: Assault on the Purity

Allison McKay never considered herself very special, nor very pretty, so to speak.

As a child, she'd never really come across as anything remarkable—her grades were average, her social life more so, and until the age of 17, she'd never even had her first kiss. In secondary school, she'd been too meek to be noticed by the more popular kids, but too social to fit in with the more reclusive ones, too.

All throughout her life, up until the point when she turned 19 and found out about the Empire still being alive, Allison had always felt a void in her life—as if she had no purpose in this world. Then, days after she turned 19 (there wasn't a party thrown), she stumbled into the Imperial world when she quite accidentally came across a recruitment drive in Horton, Surrey. There, she lay low and listened with rapt attention as the recruiter told his audience of the unknown world that had been kept secret, and their chance to serve the Empire.

For the first time in her life, Allison felt as if she'd found her calling.

She'd been found out, of course, and was about to have her memory wiped, when she pleaded with the recruiter to let her join the Imperial Armed Forces. Her begging lasted long enough to convince the recruiter of her sincerity and he acquiesced at length. Thus, she became a private in the Armed Forces.

Specifically, a private in the 96th Imperial Rifle Regiment.

Which was why she was now sitting along the side of one of the boarding shuttles making their way to the enemy airship.

Near the door to the cockpit, she spotted the platoon sergeant standing upright, his rifle in one hand, and his other grabbing one of the triangular leather holders hanging from the ceiling, so as to stay upright. Being a new recruit, though, she didn't really know her sergeant all that well, except that he'd been part of the 79th Imperial Highlander Regiment since before Serpent Fortress, where he'd been promoted to his current rank, before being transferred to the 96th.

His name escaped her, but she could swear it started with a D.

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, as the room was suddenly bathed in a dim, green light. She watched her sergeant look up briefly and nod before lowering his eyes to his men and nodding.

"Alright, soldiers, check equipment!" he ordered gruffly. All around her, her platoon-mates quickly checked their ammunition supply, equipment, and rifles. She hastily moved to copy them as her comrades got ready to fight.

Once everyone was done, the sergeant nodded briefly again. "Very good," he said. "Men, you should all feel proud to serve in this great army! An army whose sole purpose is to defend the greatest bastion of reason and justice in the world! As we speak, we approach the enemy to do honourable battle with them! Control your urges, and give mercy to the wounded. Protect your brothers in arms, and fight with courage, and honour!" he told them.

"Imperium Aevitas!" Allison yelled with the rest of her platoon.

The sergeant nodded with a grim smile. "Empire Forever," he agreed. Suddenly, the dim green light shut off and a red one started blinking. The sergeant glanced upwards for a second before nodding to his men and putting on his helmet. With one final glance to them, he thrust his rifle upwards and yelled, "Imperium Aevitas!"

"Imperium Aevitas!" chanted the platoon as they all felt the transport finally land. The soldiers kept chanting it as the pistons hissed and the ramp lowered onto the ground. When the metallic ramp hit the hangar floor, the platoon gave a war cry before running down the ramp and into the awaiting hell.

Allison was, fortunately, not among those at the front, of which five were almost immediately killed upon getting off the transport. The redheaded teen looked around her briefly and saw other transports landing in the hangar, while other platoons engaged the enemy in front of them, who were putting up a tough fight.

Allison quickly made her way behind a crate and ducked as a killing curse flew over her head, taking her helmet with it. She quickly discarded the burning thing and whimpered as she saw one of her platoon mates run by and promptly get hit with a Reductor curse in the face, knocking the man onto his back as his head exploded. From her position behind the crate, she watched, horrified, as the man's hand gave a final twitch before settling on the ground.

Her attention was quickly grabbed, however, when she felt a hand grab her red uniform. Giving a scream, she tried to get away but the hand held her firmly in place.

"McKay!" shouted a voice. "Bring yourself together!"

Allison slowly looked up to see her sergeant looking down at her. It had been his hand that grabbed her uniform, and, though she expected him to look disgusted or mad, he looked worried.

"McKay, you need to keep moving! Come on!" prodded the sergeant as he tugged at her uniform.

Slowly, Allison allowed herself to be lifted onto her feet. The sergeant gave her an encouraging smile before nodding and running off towards the battle.

Allison merely watched as her sergeant ran into the thick of things, seemingly uncaring of the hundreds of spells flying around him. She watched him suddenly lunge forward, roll on the ground, before halting at a kneeling position and firing off three shots in quickly succession, successfully hitting all three targets. He then turned to face an approaching Death Eater and, flipping the gun around, swung the butt of the rifle against the Death Eater's head, dropping the Dark Wizard to the ground, where the sergeant finished him off with a shot to the head.

Allison gaped at the sight, and a quick look around her told her that many of her platoon-mates were, too. She watched her sergeant take a deep breath before turning to look behind him and seemed annoyed at the fact that she and her comrades were just standing there.

"What are you waiting for—an invitation?" yelled the sergeant. "Move!"

The order seemed to breathe life back into the platoon as Allison and her comrades began to run towards their sergeant, letting loose a shot here and there. The sergeant gave an approving nod before turning and charging the enemy again, his men right behind him.

Allison charged a particular series of crates, where several Death Eaters were taking cover. She and four others jumped onto the crates and onto the awaiting Dark Wizards with guns blazing. Allison herself shot one in the chest as she kicked one who was getting up in the face.

She briefly heard her companions shoot the remaining Death Eaters and looked around her, trying to find her next objective.

The answer came quickly to her as she saw the sergeant motioning for them to follow him.

"Come on!" she urged her companions as she set off in her sergeant's direction. Her four companions gave her no answer and simply followed her.

When the group reached the sergeant, he gave them a once-over before nodding. "Good work," he told them. Allison felt herself blush with delight and so tucked her head down, much to the rest's amusement. "From the look of things, the Seventy-Ninth will be taking care of securing the hangar. We're to move on ahead and secure the bridge," he briefed them.

The sergeant turned to a fellow sergeant and nodded. "You take your platoon through the right entrance. Second platoon will take the left," he informed another sergeant. "First platoon will follow me through the centre entrance," he informed his men. "Questions?"

"Where's the Lieutenant?" asked one. "Where are the officers?"

"No officers on this raid, boys," replied the sergeant. "They're being kept onboard the _Retaliation_ to keep the guns working."

Some murmurs of disagreement were heard, but there was general acceptance of the situation. The sergeant looked around briefly and, hearing no more questions, finally nodded.

"Alright. Time to press our advantage. Second and third platoon, good luck. First platoon, on me. Move!"

With that, the group dispersed.

* * *

Almost immediately, Allison hated their luck. It so happened that the centre corridor was the enemy's staging point for a planned counterattack. Thus, when the 42 remaining men in the platoon charged through the entrance, the enemy simply opened fire on them, almost instantly killing 7 more.

Allison cursed as she ducked behind a steel beam, just as a Cruciatus hit the other side of it. She was thinking of what to do next when the sergeant suddenly joined her behind the beam. She was about to ask him what he was doing there when both of them winced as a Reductor hit a nearby wall.

"Damn, that was close," yelled the sergeant.

"What now, sir?" asked Allison over the explosions as she watched the remaining men in the platoon duck for cover.

"Uh…" replied the sergeant as he looked around him. His eyes spotted a crate within lunging distance and turned to grin sloppily at Allison. "Cover me!"

"What?" asked Allison, just as the sergeant lunged for cover behind the nearby crate. "Oh, son of a—" she cursed, before briefly coming out from behind the beam and firing off a couple of rounds at the enemy. She quickly ducked soon after as retaliatory spells came flying towards her.

She was about to curse wildly at her sergeant when she saw him dig out a couple of MP grenades.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled over the explosions. The sergeant turned to grin.

"Watch!" he yelled back before getting to his feet and suddenly flinging both grenades in the direction of the enemy. Allison's eyes widened briefly before she immediately made herself as small as possible behind the beam, just as the sergeant ducked behind the crate.

The resulting explosion of both grenades shook the very corridor as the Reductor spells within the projectiles ripped apart the enemy's cover and several of their men.

As the explosion died out, the sergeant jumped to his feet and exhorted, "Charge, men!"

With that, Allison came out from behind the beam and, running right behind the sergeant, attacked the Death Eaters' position.

* * *

Hours later, the platoon was still fighting its way towards the bridge, finding the opposition impressively stubborn. By now, the 50-man platoon had been cut down to a mere 28 men. The group had just recently lost another 7 men when they stormed a mess hall.

Now, they found themselves holding firm cautiously in front of a closed door, which none of them wished to open, after the previous five ended up in ambushes.

The sergeant himself was looking at the door cautiously. Even if the door was only open for a second, it was time enough to give the enemy an opportunity to release some mid-level spells. With one medic down and already 22 soldiers dead, he couldn't afford to simply charge.

"What seems to be the problem here?" asked a familiar voice. The sergeant turned to see Major-General Potter standing there with his Coldstream Guards. He immediately saluted the man whom he'd followed for the past two years.

The general saluted him back briefly before repeating his question. The sergeant looked at the door briefly and explained the situation.

Allison watched as the general nodded as the sergeant explained his fear of another ambush. The general seemed to know the sergeant, judging from the two's relaxed body language.

"So the door's the problem, Douglas?" asked the general.

'Douglas!_That's_ his name!' thought Allison, who'd been embarrassed at not knowing her sergeant's name.

"Yes, sir. I figured, maybe blowing it up would give enough cover, to rush through and get some cover, but we don't have enough explosives," replied the sergeant.

Allison watched the general contemplate the door quietly. He gazed at it for some time before nodding. What came next surprised her.

The general drew his pistol and handed it over to his guards, who were now looking distinctly unhappy.

"Sir?" asked her sergeant, puzzled.

The general glanced at the sergeant for a second before turning his attention back at the door. "You and your men wait here. I'll take care of this," explained the general.

The sergeant—indeed, the whole platoon—gaped at the general's announcement. The sergeant seemed about to protest when the general suddenly opened the door and dashed inside, just as the Coldstream Guards closed it.

Everyone was left gaping at the door.


	15. Chapter XV: Skill and Power

_AN: I know that in previous chapters, I've only ever alluded to Harry's actual skills in combat. With this chapter, however, I hope to dispel this problem. Please note that while it was written long ago, I've only recently managed to upload it due to University complications._

_Cheers,_

_Marquis Black _

* * *

Harry dashed into the room with a calm look on his face. Instantly, he saw that sergeant McIntyre had been correct in his fears as over fifty Death Eater-garbed figures opened fire on him. Harry immediately threw himself feet-first onto the ground and slid under the initial barrage of spells, drawing his wand in the process.

Using the slide to get near his first opponent, Harry silently threw a Reductor spell at the Dark Wizard's stomach, causing it to explode in a shower of gore and blood, sufficiently distracting those around him.

The young Potter heir then jumped to his feet and, grabbing the dead Death Eater's robes in a handful, flung him into four approaching Death Eaters, who were thrown onto the ground as a result.

Not paying attention to their fate, the dark haired wizard spun low on his heel, avoiding an oncoming Killing Curse (which killed another Death Eater as a result) and stabbed his wand into another's neck, firing off a slicing spell while still protruding from the dying Death Eater's neck into another enemy wizard, severing that one's head.

Harry quickly slid out his wand from the wizard's neck and pushed the dying wizard's head down onto his oncoming knee, putting the wizard out of commission. He then threw himself on the ground and so ducked three more Killing Curses, which killed another three Death Eaters.

Using his hands as springs, Harry then flipped himself back onto his feet, firing off three wide-arc slicing spells which took out another six wizards. He briefly saw a Death Eater approach quickly and dispatched that one with a kick to the stomach and a upward jab of his wand under his chin.

He quickly pulled his wand out and used it to cast a Reductor spell at another approaching wizard, whose head was summarily blown apart. He caught that one's wand as it flew out of the dead wizard's hand and threw it into another Death Eater's eyes, successfully avoiding the metallic mask.

Harry now drew his sword as a gang of ten wizards tried to mob him from all sides. As he slashed at one with his sabre, he silently flung a slicing spell that hit another in the chest, causing him to go down in a shower of blood.

Harry then avoided a spell by bending backwards and used that motion as an opportunity to stab a Death Eater in the neck as he shot off a Reductor spell that blew off another's entire upper-left side. He then straightened up and swiftly cut off the casting wizard's arm, silencing the man's screams with a Reductor spell to the neck.

Harry dispatched the dark wizards one by one in such a manner, creatively using both wand and sword to inflict as much damage as he could on his enemies. At one point, he even grabbed a falling Death Eater by the back of his robes (he'd left his sabre imbedded in another's skull) and used him as a flail against the oncoming wizards.

Sometimes, he didn't even use deadly spells. Against one of the Death Eaters, he simply used an Accio spell to summon another Death Eater's wand to him, plunging the pointy wooden instrument into the back of the man's skull. For another, he used a levitating spell to fling the man repeatedly against both the ground and the ceiling at high velocities, finally stopping when the man's head was an unrecognizable lump.

When finally, he was left with a single opponent, Harry quickly disabled him by sweeping the wizard's legs from underneath him and stabbing his sabre into the downed wizard's groin. The wizard screamed in pain as the metallic weapon cut deep into him.

Harry grabbed the fallen Death Eater's robes and pulled the dying man up to him so that they were at equal eye level.

"Where is the bridge," Harry asked simply. The man whimpered in pain in reply, which Harry resolved by simply twisting the sabre inside the man's wound. The man screamed again in pain. "Where is the bridge?" repeated Harry.

"Next…door…Please…stop…" whimpered the wounded Death Eater.

Harry ignored the plea and asked next, "Who is your commander?"

A stubborn silence greeted him, which was quickly remedied by Harry twisting his sabre some more. "NOTT! NOTT IS IN COMMAND!" yelled the pained Death Eater.

Harry nodded in thanks. "Thank you. Now, goodbye," he told the man before letting him drop and swiftly sending a slicing curse to decapitate the man.

Harry looked around him and, seeing no living enemies, pushed a button on his watch, which would send a signal to his bodyguards that they could move in. As he waited for his men to enter the corridor, Harry looked down at his shirt and noticed that he'd been nicked in the arm.

"Oh, sodding hell!" he muttered as he saw the wound, briefly breaking free from the grip of his colder nature's grasp. "Great. Ginny's never going to let this one go…"

"Sir!"

Harry quickly muttered "_Reparo!_", thus repairing the torn fabric and hiding his wound just as the sergeant, the remainder of the decimated 1st Platoon, and his bodyguards rushed inside.

As Harry turned to look at them, he briefly heard someone exclaim, "Holy Shit!" before being shushed out by someone else.

Looking around him, Harry supposed there was reason to be shocked. Beyond the dead bodies on the ground, the walls were splattered with blood and gore, and one Death Eater's corpse was hanging from a protrusion in the wall, where one of Harry's Reductor curses had cause a big, jagged piece of metal to shoot outward. Yet another corpse was apparently hanging from the ceiling lights.

Before anyone managed to get out a question, though, Harry jerked his thumb in the nearby door's direction. "The bridge is behind that door. The captain of the ship is called Theodore Nott. He is to be captured alive," he informed them calmly. Everyone, except for his bodyguards, simply gaped at him. After all, they'd never seen him perform such a feat before, and all the combat they'd seen him perform had been as part of the army, never alone.

After a moment of them gaping at him, Harry asked, "What?" in an annoyed tone that suddenly got them moving again.

Harry watched as the group moved towards the following door, counted to three, then charged into the bridge. From the sound of it, the second and third platoon were already in there, fighting. Harry turned to his bodyguards, who were looking at him with a resigned and frustrated look.

"Oh, come off it," he told them. "It's not like I've never done this before."

The Coldstreamers merely rolled their eyes before following him into the bridge.


	16. Chapter XVI: It's a Trap!

Minutes later, Harry was standing before a kneeling Nott, whose hands were bound behind his back, as the battered 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Platoons watched on, bitter eyes glaring at Nott.

"Game's up, Nott," Harry commented airily. "Might as well tell me what I want to know."

Nott snorted disparagingly. "As if, Potter. You may have caught me, but we're not beaten."

"Your fleet's gone."

"Who says that was all we had?" shot back Nott. For a moment, Harry felt a cold chill run up his spine, but chose to disregard the comment as bravado.

"Who gave you the plans?" asked Harry.

Nott smirked. "One of you."

Harry rolled his eyes and signalled a Coldstreamer, who happily smashed the butt of his rifle into Nott's back. The Death Eater howled in pain and glared up at Harry.

"I'll only ask one more time, Nott. Who gave you the plans?"

Nott glared fiercely at Harry before relenting. "I don't know," he admitted. Seeing Harry about to signal the Coldstreamer again, he quickly added, "It's the truth! The Council simply ordered me to take command of all these ships! I've had nothing to do with their creation!"

Harry stopped himself from signalling the guard, who looked somewhat disappointed. Harry knew why, too. The man's wife and 3-year old daughter had been killed by Death Eaters in 1995. Since then, he'd gained a sadistic streak when it came to Death Eaters.

"How did you build five of them so quickly?" asked Harry.

Nott thought briefly about staying silent, but seeing Harry's hand twitch made him break. "I don't exactly know!" he yelled quickly. "The Council found something….somewhere in Asia, I think, that increased our manpower!"

Harry nodded, glancing over to one of his bodyguards, who was writing everything down.

"Why were you stationed here? Are you support for the Dark bases?" asked Harry.

Now, Nott was grinning madly. "Oh, is that what they told you?" he practically purred in delight. "Bases, they said?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What are you on about?"

Nott now shook his head. "Nope! Won't tell!" he replied merrily, a deranged and sadistic gleam in his eyes.

Harry motioned to the Coldstreamer, who promptly bashed Nott's back once more. The Death Eater howled in pain again, but soon started laughing.

"Won't matter!" he exclaimed amid flinches. "Won't matter at all!"

"What won't matter?" demanded Harry.

"You're here!" stated Nott as he cackled. "You're here…_but we're there!_"

Harry suddenly had a horrible feeling in his stomach. He spun around and ordered, "Someone get the _Retaliation_ to scan the area! Find me those bases!"

"Bases, basey, baseyloo," sang Nott.

"And someone shut that scum up!" ordered Harry, now irritated, as well as nervous and suddenly, very, very afraid. The Coldstreamer happily obliged Harry as he bashed Nott once more, making the man stop singing and start whimpering silently.

Harry paced the area for a few minutes before a cry came up from the communications console. "The _Retaliation_ reports that it cannot find any bases, sir!" reported the soldier.

Harry's eyes widened. "It's a trap," he muttered.

"Sir, we already know that," said the sergeant. "They ambushed us, remember?"

"No!" exclaimed Harry as he turned to Douglas. "Don't you get it? It's a _trap!_"

Blank looks welcomed his announcement.

"Think, men, think! Why are we here?"

"To destroy Dark bases, sir?" volunteered one.

"Exactly! But there are no bases, so what does that tell us?"

"It's a distraction?" ventured someone else.

"But for what? Why would they bring us all the way out here?" asked another.

Silence answered him for a moment before the sergeant's face grew horrified. "Because they wanted us out of Britain…" he whispered.

Harry nodded. "Get the men back to the transports!" he ordered. "Call up the _Retaliation_—tell them to get ready to move out towards Britain at full speed!"

As the men scrambled to fulfill their orders, Harry turned defeated eyes towards Douglas. "It's a trap."

* * *

_London, Two days later…_

Field Marshall Lord Victor Irons was in his car, on his way to the office when the first car exploded.

The aged military man reflexively ducked slightly behind the seat in front of him as he watched the random car go up in flames.

"What the bloody hell?" yelled the Duke's bodyguard up front. "Al, get us out of here!"

The driver tried to comply as he made a bid to weave his way through traffic, but another exploding car quickly killed that idea.

Used to battlefields, the Duke wasn't as shook up as his bodyguard or driver, both of whom were shaking.

"Peter, Allen, we need to get out of this car!" he told the two. They only too joyfully complied as they scrambled out of the car, the Duke right behind them. Keeping the Duke behind him, Peter, the bodyguard, led his companions through traffic, occasionally forcing the Duke to take cover as car after car exploded in the jammed up street.

Eventually, the trio managed to get out of the packed street, where the populace was going stir crazy as they tried to escape whatever it was that was trying to kill them. However, in getting out of the street, the trio ended up in a dead end alley.

The three made their way near the wall at the end, with Peter having his hand inside his suit, ready to pull his gun at any moment, when several pops indicated magical arrivals.

The three men turned to see at least fifteen Death Eaters standing in front of them, blocking their way back to the street, from where they could hear screams and additional explosions.

The leader of the group took a step forward and took off his mask, revealing an aristocratic face framed by silver-blonde hair. He sneered as he looked upon the three Muggles.

"Field Marshall Victor Irons, I presume," stated the blonde man. "I am Lucius Malfoy, of the Death Eaters."

"What do you want?" demanded Irons gruffly.

"Why nothing, your Grace," replied Lucius silkily, as if taken aback by the mere possibility that he would ask something of a Duke. Lucius suddenly drew his wand and pointed it at Irons. "Except your death, of course."

Behind Lucius, the rest of the Death Eaters all drew their own wands and levelled them at the three Muggles.

"Even if you kill me, the Crown will simply promote someone else to lead the Armed Forces," declared Irons defiantly.

Lucius laughed outright at that. "You think this is a hit?" asked Lucius. "Oh no, my dear Duke. This is far more than a hit!"

Lucius' countenance suddenly turned victorious. "This is victory!" declared the Death Eater before casting a Killing Curse at Irons, who fell limply onto the ground as the green spell hit him full on.

Lucius' bold statement proved to be true as the Death Eaters marched down the roads of London, blasting obstacles out of their way. The Armed Forces, stretched throughout the Empire in search of alleged bases (for Harry had not been the only one duped), valiantly tried to rally at Buckingham Palace, but were quickly dispatched by the Death Eaters as they proceeded to storm the palace, seek out the Royal Family, and butchered them in the throne room.

The scene would repeat itself in every Imperial building. From the Prime Minister's office at Downing Street to the lowest police station in the countryside, the Death Eaters took out the entire Imperial bureaucratic and defence infrastructure.

Only one place was giving the Death Eaters trouble.


	17. Chapter XVII: Our Darkest Hour

_Griffin Keep_

"HA!" yelled Sirius as he sent off a slicing spell that took out the last Death Eater. The dark-robed wizard was blasted into the wall as the slicing curse cut him in half.

The dark haired aristocrat turned to look at his family. James, Lily, and Ginny were fine (with Ginny looking the least exhausted, despite having taken out at least twelve Death Eaters). Remus had suffered a glancing hit to the leg which had cause him to collapse briefly, but was now back on his feet and helping Lily and Ginny take care of Maximilian, who'd been unfortunate enough to be closest to the door, thus the Death Eater's first target. He'd been hit with a slicing curse to the chest. It had only very nearly missed hitting his heart.

Alexandra and Matthew had come out mildly injured as well, due to the fact that both had failed to duck when Maximilian had gone down. As such, Alexandra had sustained cutting injuries to her right side and her left arm, while Matthew had a mildly grave injury on his right femur.

The truth was, however, that the Potters very well nearly didn't make it out alive. The timely arrival of several of Ginny's operatives, however, had saved the day. The Hogwarts Complement, as Intelligence called them, had arrived in the midst of a very nearly one-sided engagement, with the Potters rightly about to lose. Their timely arrival and flanking of the Death Eaters was the diversion the Potters needed to regroup and counterattack.

One of them, a girl whom Sirius believed Ginny called Hannah, was currently taking charge of counting how many operatives had made it to Griffin Keep. As her sight started to finish counting, however, she became more and more filled with grief.

By the end of her count, however, she seemed devastated. "Only fifteen," she whispered.

Ginny, who'd taken a break and had joined Hannah, looked ready to cry. "Just fifteen? What happened to the others?"

"Taken out, no doubt," answered Dean Thomas, one of the few who'd managed to get to Griffin Keep. He was sporting a nasty cut that ran from above his left eyebrow to just beneath the eye. "The bastards timed their attacks well. They caught my family during a late dinner."

"We were just getting to bed," commented Parvati as she held her twin sister tightly. Both had their clothes shredded to pieces—evidence of what the Death Eaters had wanted to do to them, had they not suddenly remembered their training and fought back. "Mum and Dad never had a chance."

Similar announcements came from the rest of the survivors, all of whom looked angry, scared, and/or defeated. One was rocking himself back and forth, hugging his legs to his chest.

"Who's missing, then?" asked Ginny.

"Dennis Creevey didn't make it," replied Cynthia Collins who, much to Hannah's delight, did make it. "Nor did Rose, from Ravenclaw."

"The Stuart brothers didn't make it, either," added Dean.

"What about Lavender?" asked Ginny.

Hannah shook her head sadly, which prompted Parvati to cry at the loss of her best friend. This time, it was Padma's turn to comfort her sister.

"How did this happen?" demanded Dean. "How did they know where to strike?"

Ginny put her head in her hands as she thought. "We don't know," she informed her friends. "All we know is that there is a traitor within the Imperial Armed Forces. Or traitors."

The survivors nodded in acceptance at the answer. They knew they couldn't push Ginny much more on the issues. If she didn't know, then it was probable no one else knew.

"So, what now?" asked Parvati at length.

"We go underground," stated James as he neared the group. At the mutinous looks, he raised his hands to halt any protest. "Look, I've just gotten word from several of my informants that London's been taken over. Plus, one of them swears he saw the Death Eaters storm and burn Buckingham Palace."

Horrified gasps answered that last statement.

"Furthermore, reports are coming in from all throughout Ireland, the Falklands, Australia, Canada, Jersey, Man, and the Caribbean that similar events are taking place. As of right now, the Empire has been brought to its knees," he told them. "But we are not beaten. Not while there is a breathe still existing within the lungs of a single patriot," he exhorted. "However, the enemy has won the day, so we must go to ground and rebuild."

"What about Harry?" asked Ginny.

"Harry is a general, dear," Lily comforted her. "He'll know what to do. The _Assaye _managed to launch before the attack began."

Ginny took one look at her battered friends and nodded at James. "Fine. Where are we to go?" she asked.

James gave her a reassuring smile. "The Potters have properties outside of Imperial influence as well, you should know," he told her. "The one we're going to is in a country called Panama. We'll not be bothered there, as its magical community is part of the old Spanish Empire, not ours."

"Of course," interjected Remus from his place on the couch, "The Conservatory will need to be emptied. The contents in it are far too dangerous to be allowed to fall into the hands of the Death Eaters."

"Agreed," voiced Matthew and Alexandra, who was looking after her injured husband.

"And our families?" asked one of Ginny's operatives.

Sirius looked at the boy sadly. "Sorry, lad, but if your families didn't make it out when you did, then there's no saving them. The Death Eaters will have every Imperial sympathizer killed within the month, if they get their hands on any."

"But my parents hate the Empire!" protested Hannah.

"Doesn't matter," Maximilian spoke softly, groaning from the pain as Alexandra tried to get him to stay down. "They'll be killed just to hurt you…because they know it will."

"Maximilian's right," commented Lily. "Saving ourselves is right now our only concern."

Ginny nodded. "Ok, so what are we waiting for?"

* * *

AN: So ends the second installment of the Dark Wars! The first chapter of the third installment, Empire's Rebirth, will be up in exactly five days. Hope you enjoyed this installment as much as you did Empire's Plight! Toodles! 


	18. Chapter XVIII: Afterword

_Afterword_

Now that _Empire's End_ is finished, I believe that there are, even at this point, still some issues that I need to resolve with you, dear readers, so that little to no confusions arise in the sequel. In order to best address these issues efficiently, I will be addressing them point by point.

Let me just be clear, however, that this is not an Author's Note, but a direct attempt at resolving loose ends.

Empire's Power: The Empire's entire Imperial Armed Forces, including Imperial Navy, Army, and Airfleet, consists of about 150,000 men and women. A quick glance at a statistics site on World War II would indicate then, that this is about half of the amount of men the British _lost_ during the war (never mind the amount of soldiers that _survived_). However, in terms of a home army, it's above average in size (if only due to the fact that they need to be able to strike anywhere at a moment's notice), especially for a country the size of the UK (considering that the US National Guard has above 456,000 for a country of its size). As such, when the Empire is brought to its knees, it's not even fighting with half of its possible strength, but only that which they assumed was necessary to fight the small, yet extremely mobile, group of Death Eaters. Note, however, that they had no idea as to the discovery of the Terracota Army. As such, when the Imperial Army dispersed across the Empire due to rumours of Death Eater expansions outside of Britain, they were spread thin, which would explain why the London takeover was so easy.

Death Eater Military Practices: I understand that many of you, dear readers, are assuming that the Death Eaters portrayed in my story are acting—and thus, thinking—in the same fashion as the one portrayed in the canon books. This notion, however, is not applicable to the _Dark Wars_ series. The Death Eaters in the canon books are led by the psychotic and ultra-conservative Tom Marvolo Riddle (aka, Lord Voldemort). In this series, however, it is not Riddle who controls them, but rather a group of Dark Wizards known as, creatively enough, the Council of Death. Unlike Riddle, the Council has no compunctions in changing their strategies in order to win, and while several people within the Death Eaters may have objections to the changes, it is my judgment, as an aristocrat myself, that most of the other aristocrats within the Death Eaters would be willing to change their views and strategies as long as it gave them victory, and as long as they aren't too radically opposite their natural views.

Empire's Fall: The moment London fell, what occurred was the total annihilation of the Imperial _leadership_, not its territories overseas. As of the last chapter, England is the only nation to have fallen. Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Canada, India, Australia, New Zealand, the Falklands, Ascension Island, St. Helena, and the Caribbean territories haven't fallen just yet. At the time of the third story, however, the sieges and takeovers that _will_ conquer these countries will have happened over a period of 15 years.

Ministry Involvement in the Fall: As the future sequel will show, the Ministry had a complicit hand in the fall of the Empire, if only due to stubborn inaction. This is why the Aurors never showed up. And, really, from what we've seen in the canon books, are the Aurors really _that_ good to stop an _army _of Death Eaters?

Archangel Technology: The spread of the Archangel project technology is, contrary to popular belief, _extremely_ limited. Kept as a highly classified government secret, the British are the _only_ nation to possess the technological blueprints for the creation of Assault Ships, as well as Technomantic bullets. As such, most other nations would ultimately be left unable to fight off the Death Eaters (something which will later show up in the fourth sequel and haunt the British).

Death Eater Technological Proficiency: While I understand it is very implausible that Death Eaters could man and effectively use an Assault Ship, or any type of technology, let's remember that the point of these first ships were not necessarily for the creation of a combat fleet, but merely as a distraction. They were meant solely to keep the British Imperial forces _out_ of the United Kingdom while the Death Eaters launched their coup. In the future, however, this lack of proficiency may no longer be true.


End file.
